


Under the Same Sky

by Lockea



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Multi, References to The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood, Sexual Slavery, of the non-sexy kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockea/pseuds/Lockea
Summary: "Who were you before they destroyed you?”A Handmaid's Tale AU. Ofbruce is the first handmaid of the Wayne family, having been assigned in the wake of Dame Richard Wayne's declared infertility. At first the Waynes seem like any other family, but the illusion begins to break all too quickly. Strange things are happening in the Wayne household, and if Ofbruce dares press he'll find something he doesn't want to find, something that will shatter the perfect illusion he's created in order to survive.





	1. A New Post

**Author's Note:**

> It's complete coincidence that this is coming out a day later than "The Handomega's Tale" as I've actually been working on this fic for a month now. I was going to sit on top of it for a while longer, but reading LuthienLuinwe's fic got me working on it more seriously.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my friend who goes by the online name Waffles. Thank you for letting me ramble about how much I love Handmaid's Tale (book and tv series) and helping me hunt down all of Ms. Atwood's historical influences for THT, such as Nazi breeding camps.
> 
> The rest of the author's note doesn't matter if you want to skip past and start reading.
> 
> To the readers of Crimson -- a new chapter is coming! I promise! I'm on sex scene number 2 of 2 for that chapter and a bit stuck. I'll unstick myself soonish. If you're wondering what happened... well, the day I sat down to work on the chapter I got a call for an interview. One interview turned into four more which turned into a job offer which turned into a bidding war which means I have a new job making A LOT of money (it's the weirdest thing to have a company get in a bidding war over which department gets to have you. I feel weirdly flattered). Of course, said new job requires me to move in July after I finish my training period. Anyway, that's made for a stressful couple of weeks and so Crimson's flow got interrupted and I'm working on getting back in the swing of things. It's coming, I promise!

How old are you?

Fifteen.

Where are your parents?

Jail. Dead.

How long have you been on your own?

…

Okay. Don’t worry about it. We just need to add you to our database. You’re very brave, recognizing that you can’t take care of a baby at your age. So brave. She’ll go to a nice home, a loving family.

Thank you.

No problem dear. May God bless you and keep you safe.

*~*~*

Four walls. A chair. A table. A bed. A window with red curtains that match the red of his robes, flowing around him. Strange. Tonight, he won’t be sleeping in this room anymore. Dame White, an infertile female omega who stands five nothing in bare feet so she wears heels to make herself taller, comes to fetch him herself. Unusual. Usually she sends the Martha to do it.

Dame White smiles at him as if they are good friends. They’re not. The only thing she’s done for him has been to let him hold the children on occasion. Isaac, two years old, toddles after Dame White as she fills the space of the door, Chasity in her arms. Those are not the names he would have given them, but even though he carried them in his belly for nine months and labored hours to bring them into the world, they are not his children.

“Thank you for your service, Ofalice. Aunt Rachel is here.” Dame White says and sounds almost compassionate.

He nods, numbly, and rises to his feet. His wings are beside him, his red cloak across the carefully made bed. He doesn’t look at Isaac or Chasity or Dame White as he places the cloak over his robes and holds his wings as he follows Dame White out of the room and down the stairs where, in the living room, Aunt Rachel beams at him.

“Blessed be the fruit!” Aunt Rachel greets, so very cheerful.

“May the Lord open.” He repeats back, dull and listless.

“Cheer now, Ofalice. You have been so blessed and done such wonderful work in the name of the Lord!” Aunt Rachel tells him, taking his hand – the one not turning white around the ribbon of his wings – and patting it gently. “Now, let us be on our way. Your new post is waiting for you.”

He nods and follows her out the door, still not looking back even as Isaac begins to babble and weep and Dame White shushes him, clearly annoyed at the young alpha’s attachment to the omega walking out the door. He doesn’t look back at his children, because they’re not his children.

All of his children are not his children.

*~*~*

You’re infertile.

No.

Your ovaries are underdeveloped. You are closer to a beta than an omega.

Don’t say that.

It’s not uncommon in male omegas, and with the infertility crisis showing now signs of letting up its hardly a surprise.

I can’t. We did… we did everything we could think of. I’ve been trying for years. I should have…

Hush, Dame Wayne. You did the best you could. You did your duties faithfully. There are still handmaids changing postings. I’ll file your status and an Aunt will find you a handmaid soon.

I don’t want –

I know. No one wants to really need a handmaid, but like Bilah bore Rachel’s child, a handmaid fulfills the same purpose.

*~*~*

Damian must think he’s gone insane, Dick thinks ruefully. Certainly, Alfred seems to think so. He’s rearranged the furniture in the sitting room at least four times since the news came two days ago that Gotham’s head Aunt, Rachel, had found an omega handmaid for the family that specified Dick’s ridiculous list of requirements. It was only because he was Commander Wayne’s wife that he was able to get away with so many demands in the first place. Most people accepted whatever handmaid was given them but Dick had been particular. Male, younger than Dick, at least two successful pregnancies. There, no handmaid would meet those requirements.

Yet one had. One stationed in Gotham no less.

“Step-mother. Enough.” Damian orders. The young alpha glances up from his sketchbook, Titus laying across his lap on the couch as Dick busies himself with the coffee table.

Dick smiles ruefully and takes a seat on the couch next to Damian, perched on the edge with enough space for Titus, who Dick knows he’ll have to shoo away in a few minutes before Aunt Rachel and the handmaid arrive. “Sorry. I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“Tch.” Damian clicks his tongue and shifts enough that Titus rumbles and glances up mournfully at Dick, as if sensing what Dick’s about to do.

“All right mutt.” Dick ruffles the dog behind the ears and shoos him away just as Bruce opens the door to the study. Titus ducks out and Bruce comes in. Even under these circumstances, Dick’s smile is genuine as he envelopes his husband in a hug and places a chaste peck on his cheek, which Bruce endures with one arm wrapped around Dick’s slender waist.

It wasn’t always this way. When Dick was nine Bruce took him in as a ward, but as the world fell and Gilead rose it was unseemly for an unmarried alpha to be raising an omega child. Dick did not follow the logic that made marriage the right course of action, but he’d numbly understood the consequences of disobedience. There were only four roles for omegas in this changing world. Wife, Handmaid, Martha, or Unomega. Dick didn’t want any of those roles passed to him, but at least being Bruce’s wife gave him some measure of freedom. He wanted, even less, to leave the house where he’d lived since he was nine. So at eighteen he married Bruce.

And now, at twenty-three, they were going to take a handmaid.

“They’re here. Alfred went to let them in.” Bruce informs Dick as Dick pulls away. With an unhappy sigh, Dick takes a seat on the edge of the couch while Bruce heads for the armchair off to the side and Damian sets aside his sketchpad to measure himself into the perfect son of the Wayne family. Here they are, Bruce the Sire, the Commander, the Master of the household. Dick, his beautiful and obedient omega wife, and Damian the heir. A perfect image greets Aunt Rachel as she steps into the room, the red cloaked handmaid following in her footsteps.

The handmaid is so young it makes Dick feel sick to his stomach. He’s clearly still growing a bit, height stunted and limbs gangly, caught in the awkward phase between skinny and muscular where everything seems taut. It’s most noticeable when he removes the cloak and white bonnet, handing them over to Alfred with clear unease. Then the omega bows his head and folds his hands in front of him and Dick wants nothing more than to run over and hug him.

How did this happen? What possible sin could this omega have committed to relegate him to the role of a handmaid instead of wife or Martha?

Aunt Rachel says, “Commander, Dame Wayne. This is Ofbruce, your new handmaid.”

Bruce nods, cool and regal as if the fact that the handmaid doesn’t even have a real name doesn’t rankle him as much as it does Dick. Dick takes a moment to school his features into a perfect blank mask. He knew the handmaid wouldn’t use their birth name. Handmaids were known only by their Commander’s name. “Thank you, Aunt Rachel.” Bruce says.

Aunt Rachel says something – a traditional goodbye that Dick doesn’t catch – and leaves, escorted out by Alfred, leaving them alone with the newest member of their family.

Bruce gestures to a chair across from Dick and adjacent to him. “Please, have a seat.”

The omega does, perched on the edge of the chair, head still bowed. Dick really wants to give the omega a hug.

“This is your third posting, correct?” Bruce asks. Of course, he had the file on the omega. Dick hadn’t seen it, except what Bruce shared, which was only that the omega met all of the criteria Dick had laid forth. Dick should have added more criteria to delay the inevitable.

“Yes, Sire.” The omega’s voice is lower than most omega’s, a deep tenor that trembles a bit with nerves as the omega breathes in again.

“There’s no need to stand on formality. When it’s just family, you may use our names. I am Bruce. My wife is Richard, or Dick, and my son is Damian. What name did you go by before you became a handmaid?”

The omega – Dick can’t and won’t think of him as Ofbruce – glances to the side, away from the rest of the family. Quietly, he says, “It’s forbidden.”

He’s not wrong. It is forbidden, and even with their rank the Wayne family isn’t so high in the new theocracy that they can flaunt Gilead’s laws.

“You are very obedient.” Bruce says, and it sounds like praise but for the small measure of disappointment Dick hears in his husband’s tone. “Aunt Rachel said you have a near spotless record, save from your wilder days at the red center. I am… pleased… to accept you into this household.”

“Truly the Lord has blessed me.” The omega says, and his voice is so soft it almost hides the way it shakes. Bruce rises to his feet and Dick can’t help but catch the way the omega flinches back from the movement.

“Husband.” Dick begins, smiling brightly. “Perhaps you and Damian can continue on with your day? I’ll see to our new addition from here.”

Bruce is not oblivious, nor is Damian. They make their acquiescence and leave, and when the room is empty but for the two omegas, Dick manages a bright smile. “We’re a bit of an odd family.” Dick admits. “My husband would happily toss aside the trappings of his station for a simpler time. Please forgive him.”

“Yes, Dame Wayne.” Replies the handmaid.

“Right, well. I suppose you’re tired. I’ll walk you to your room. You should know, you are the first handmaid in this household so I’m sure there will be plenty of mistakes made along the way. I hope you’ll be patient with us.” Dick finishes with a sigh, the downturn of his chipper tone making him wince at the weakness of his words. He’s trying to reassure the other omega, but the other omega still has his hands folded in his lap. “Come along.” Dick gestures, trying to soften the order.

It doesn’t work. The omega is on his feet in a matter of moments, moving to follow Dick out of the room and down the hall. They’ve put the handmaid’s room in the family wing, somewhere to make him feel more welcome rather than like an outsider. Alfred had his room in this wing as well, so the servant’s wing sits empty and unoccupied, and they won’t open it up now. Dick chatters as they walk. “We’ve set aside everything we thought you might need but please don’t hesitate to ask someone if there’s something you need. Alfred is the family butler from the days before, so he’s kind of taken on both the role of Martha and driver. We prefer the household to be small in size, so I’m afraid it will take some getting used to. I know Aunt Rachel has already seen to your shopping companion. Ofjack, if I recall correctly, from the manor next door.”

The omega makes no reply, just stays quiet until they arrive at the door across the hall from Alfred’s – the handmaid’s bedroom. Dick opens it up and is quite pleased with the way it looks. Alfred has done well. There’s a plush full-size bed that dominates the space, a small sitting area by the window, and a place where the handmaid can work on their domestic crafts. Dick himself has taken up crochet, although he misses the days of flinging himself from the trapeze and flying through the air. Such acts are beneath a Wife nowadays. Crochet and arranging social parties for the other Wives takes up most of Dick’s time nowadays. “Well, I hope you like it.” Dick offers lamely as the omega steps past him into the room, looking around for the first time. “I’ll leave you to settle in. I’ll have Alfred check on you in a few hours to see if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Dame Wayne.” The handmaid says.

“You’re welcome.” Dick smiles. “Welcome to our household.” He shuts the door behind him and hurries off before he can do something he regrets. Something like reach out and touch the handmaid and spirit him away to the northern border.

No, he can’t do that. The handmaid might be a trap sent to spy on them, and Dick won’t put his whole family at risk for his own pity.

*~*~*

He removes the white cap covering black hair and lets the locks cascade around his shoulders the moment he’s alone. The bed looks comfortable and he wants to crawl inside of it. Instead, he steps over to the window and takes a seat in it. This window has blue curtains. He likes the red ones more. It overlooks a garden two stories below, slowly fading as fall sets in and winter approaches. Commander and Dame White lived closer to the city – this manor is far on the outskirts, but not so far that there isn’t a neighbor to arrange as a walking partner. Aunt Rachel has thought of everything.

His new spy will find nothing wrong with him; he’s been perfect. So very perfect.

The scars on his wrists and feet ache with memories.

He stays in the window until the Martha – the Driver? – comes to fetch him. At the knock on the door he twists his hair up and redons his cap. The old beta smiles warmly and introduces himself as Alfred, and he follows the beta down to the kitchen where the alpha child, Damian, is working on school work at the table, overlooking the same gardens but from a different angle as light shines through bay windows. He doesn’t look – very carefully averts his eyes – as he passes by the boy engrossed in his reading work.

He used to read, voraciously, anything he could get his hands on. Now its forbidden. A lot of things that used to be allowed are forbidden now.

He takes a seat and thanks Alfred for the tea that’s passed to him, sipping it slowly as the old beta busies himself in the kitchen, preparing food that smells amazing. The child gets up when he’s finished and puts his schoolwork away, and then sits down again just as the door opens and Dame Wayne enters. The older omega ruffles the preteen alpha’s hair affectionately, and ducks back quickly when the alpha swats at him, laughing.

That laughter dies when Dame Wayne sees him sitting there.

“Hello Ofbruce.” Dame Wayne says, and the words are kind, gentle, and would seem genuine if he didn’t know any better. No Wife wants a handmaid around. Dame White had been more decent than others, but even she was snippy and angry during his pregnancies, jealous and territorial and upset by the omega carrying her child. “How do you like your room?”

“It’s very nice.” He replies. “Thank you, Dame Wayne.”

The child clucks his tongue behind his teeth. “I cannot watch this farce of a relationship.” He declares, and leaves.

He feels… overwhelmed… somewhat, by the child’s words and departure. From the look on Dame Wayne’s face, the omega is shocked as well, but covers it quickly with another smile. “Ah, don’t mind Damian. He’s rather prickly like a cactus most of the time. Honestly I think he’s more upset that I can’t have children than he lets on.”

Alfred offers a cup of tea to Dame Wayne, who takes it and sits at the table beside him. “Please don’t let Damian bother you.” Dame Wayne adds. “He’ll warm up in a few days.”

He nods but says nothing in reply, and Dame Wayne sighs. Eventually, Alfred takes a seat at the table too while dinner bakes in the oven, and the atmosphere feels warm and cozy, like the way he imagined a family would be. He’s never had a family before so he wouldn’t know.

Even Commander Wayne comes and kisses his wife and teases his son and smiles at him as if he’s a guest rather than their breeding slave. Dinner is eaten at that kitchen table, everyone together as even Alfred sits down and of course the moment he stands to leave Commander Wayne asks him to stay and conversation revolves around Damian’s day at school or whatever social function Dame Wayne is planning and it feels… warm.

He wants to cry. This lie is so hard to maintain.

Alone that night, his dark hair hiding his face as he buries himself beneath the sheets, scarred feet tucked up under his white robes and wrists cradled close to his chest, he fights back his tears because he misses Isaac. He misses Chasity. He misses the little girl he never named.

He misses his name. His life. His freedom.

“My name is not Ofbruce.” He whispers to himself, alone in the darkness. “My name is Jason.”


	2. Liars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments on the last chapter! You all are wonderful people! And to everyone who gave kudos!
> 
> Most of this chapter was written during my downtime while I was at Escape Velocity this weekend. I enjoyed reading everyone's comments as they came to my phone.

Ofjack is so young its painful. She must be younger than him – and he was the youngest handmaid at the red center four years ago. She’s a pretty omega, standing by the front gate of Wayne manor with her head cast down but she smiles as he opens the gate and steps out onto the street with his shopping basket in hand and coupons tucked into his robes. Alfred had asked him several times that morning if he wanted coupons for anything of his own.

He hasn’t been allowed to want in so long. All he could think of was wanting a hot dog. So he settled for asking if they could have chili instead. Alfred had smiled and given him the coupons for that day’s foods and off he went, out front to where this teenage girl in a red robe is waiting for him. He wants to ask how old she is, but he bites his tongue instead.

“Blessed day.” He greats instead as they start their walk towards the grocery.

“Indeed. Although it could stand to be a little warmer. I’m freezing my metaphorical balls off.” Ofjack replies and he chokes on air, stopping all of a sudden as Ofjack turns to him with a smile on her face. “What, did you expect me to say ‘we’ve been sent good weather?’”

“Yes.” He manages after a moment, and for once there’s something like a smile on his face. He likes her. He likes his new shopping partner a lot. “Does Aunt Rachel know you talk like that?” He asks. He can’t help himself. He feels at ease with her.

“Are you going to tell her?” Ofjack asks with playful suspicion in her voice. He shakes his head. “Well then no. See? I knew you weren’t an eye.”

“I could be.” He replies and they continue down the sidewalk. They live the furthest out from the grocery store, in this quiet community, so it will take them some time to get there. There’s a guardian in front of the next house down and Ofjack’s expression turns solemn as they walk past. Once they’re out of earshot, he continues. “You don’t know me.”

“Oh pish posh.” Ofjack makes a flapping motion with her hands. “I know all the handmaids in Gotham. You know, I saw you a couple of times. You were the White’s handmaid, right? My first birthing after I became a handmaid was for your daughter.”

“She’s not my daughter.” He points out quickly. “Commander and Dame White’s daughter.”

Ofjack gives him a look, a hard stare that speaks volumes. He ducks his head away so she can’t see his face. “Anyway,” She exaggerates the word, announcing her intention. She’s not subtle, Ofjack. “I saw the scars on your wrists and I asked one of the handmaids about it – Ofalex? She lives here in the neighborhood and said she knew you from the red center. So I knew you weren’t an eye. Ofalex said you never would be.”

Whoever Ofalex is – and he runs through the list of people he remembers from the red center in his head but no one comes immediately to mind – she clearly doesn’t know him very well. Or, more accurately, know who he’s become in the four years he’s been a handmaid. He could tell her that people change. He could point out that Ofalex doesn’t know him. It could be any number of things. Instead, he asks, “How old are you anyway?”

Ofjack laughs. “What you want the whole story? Buy me dinner first.”

He smiles in response, liking her easy joking. They’re coming up on the suburb where the grocery store is located – Three Loaves – and so they lower their voices and straighten their expressions as they pass increasingly more guardians in the street.

“All right, Ofjack. Keep your secrets.”

“I will.” Ofjack laughs, and then they’re entering the grocery and it’s time to pay attention as they do the daily shopping. Ofjack, true to what she said earlier, really does seem to know every handmaid in the area, if not all of Gotham. She greets the other omegas with a warm smile and a friendly call of names as they trade gossip. Apples are in season right now, as is pumpkin and he thinks wistfully of a childhood where pumpkin carvings lit every door frame from here to the water. He remembers his mom, on one of her better days, showing him how to paint sugar pumpkins.

He collects the items he has tokens for and quietly trails in Ofjack’s wake as the omega positively dances down the aisles, cooing over good looking produce. He finds he does want to know her story. She’s a teenage girl who should be happy and free, but here she is in Handmaid red and he wants to know what she did.

But like he never wants anyone else to know what happened to him that cast him in red robes, he doubts she wants to share. So he won’t push her. He’s happy enough knowing she’s someone he can lean on, if he ever needs to.

(Your fault. Your fault.) The words chime in his head. (Your fault.) And oh how it had crushed him to hear the other handmaids accuse him of being complicit. How it drained what was left of his fight away, and let his old self disappear.

He won’t ask Ofjack’s story, because if she asks for his it will break him all over again. It was his fault. He was stupid and young and an omega. He deserves this – this life, this pain, this horrible new world – he deserves it all because in the end, it was his fault. So no, Ofjack will never know why he wears red, and if he never knows what she did, then so be it.

*~*~*

“How did he sleep last night?” Dick asks Alfred, “He left so early this morning.”

“I’m sure he slept fine, Master Dick.” Alfred replies calmly. He’s still washing the dishes from breakfast – a breakfast that had consisted only of the four of them, the handmaid already gone by the time Bruce and Dick made their appearances in the kitchen. “Ofjack arrived early this morning to say hello, but it wouldn’t surprise me if our new family member doesn’t take his walks early in the day from here on out.”

It doesn’t assuage Dick’s worry. He wants to go for a run, but the constricting blue robes of his station don’t allow for it, so he settles for making a nuisance of himself in the kitchen. “Have the preparations finished for Dame Maricott’s birthday? I’m supposed to attend Dame Hart’s baby shower tomorrow with the handmaid so I won’t have time to call the caterer myself.”

“Rest assured Master Dick, I will see to the arrangements.” Alfred is too British to show annoyance with Dick’s hovering, but Dick can read between the lines. It’s just the two of them in the manor right now, with Bruce at work and Damian at school and their handmaid out on daily chores. There’s not much for Dick to do in this instance, so he heads back up to his and Bruce’s room.

The sitting area by the window has enough space if he moves the chairs aside. Dick shuts the curtains and undresses carefully, laying his robes over the bed. The motions of a traditional warm up stretch come easily to him, remembered from when he was a baby watching his parents flow through them every time they prepared to take the trapeze. The Flying Graysons.

Oh how Dick wishes he could fly again.

Stretching and a few light tumbles in the privacy of his room gives him something to do that’s not god-awful crochet and he feels better when he steps into the shower to wash the sweat from his body. He twists his hair up – growing so long since they ordered omegas to stop cutting their hair – into a bun and redresses. The furniture is replaced, and the curtains pulled back open. If anyone knew Dick still tumbled in the privacy of his own room, it wouldn’t just be Dick who suffered. Bruce would be seen as weak for not keeping a firmer hand on his wife and his reputation would suffer greatly. So Dick keeps it quiet and takes precautions and hides that he’s still a creature of his body – he needs to run and jump and dance and fly to feel like himself – because this is about more than just himself.

Once everything looks untouched, Dick heads back down to the kitchen. The handmaid has returned, helping Alfred put away the groceries from his trip out this morning. They’re talking about his walk, so Dick lets the door slip shut quietly behind him and stays hidden in the shadows, listening in so he doesn’t accidentally spoke their more skittish family member.

“Ofjack is very young.” The handmaid tells Alfred, clearly the second half of a statement.

“So are you.” Alfred points out gently. Dick thinks it’s painful. How old is this omega anyway? Twenty? Twenty-one? Nineteen?

Young.

The omega huffs in response. “I suppose.” He agrees but doesn’t volunteer more.

Alfred says, “Would you like lunch?”

The handmaid is quiet for a few minutes and then, hesitant, and softly asks, “Can I help make lunch?”

Like it’s forbidden or something. Alfred says, “Of course you may. I shall be delighted to receive your help. Did you cook before?”

There’s a long moment of the quiet in between and Dick wonders if it’s because of the question. Too personal? Too dangerous to mention the forbidden before? Then the handmaid says, “No. When I lived on the streets, I’d sometimes help clean restaurant kitchens for their leftover food, but I never cooked.”

“Ah.” Alfred’s response is gentle, and Dick’s heart hurts a little. The broken now is just a different broken from before, but no better. “I would be happy to teach you.”

The omega smiles, small and genuine, and Dick slips back out the door, closing it behind him. He won’t break this delicate bond.

*~*~*

Bruce returns home while Dick is in the parlor, fighting with stitches he barely knows hot to make as his latest project, yet another scarf, sits limp and uneven beside him. His husband kisses him on the forehead, the way he used to when Dick was a child. Dick sets his work aside and Bruce loosens his tie before taking a seat beside him on the couch. “You’re worried.” Bruce observes.

“Of course I am.” Dick doesn’t snap. He takes a deep breath in and more calmly adds, “We have a stranger in our house, in our bed soon, and I am petrified.”

He is. He loves Bruce. Bruce who went so slow when Dick was eighteen, took his time and didn’t hurt him. Who made it worthwhile to be trying for a child both were ill-prepared to raise. They haven’t slept together in the two weeks since Dick found out he was infertile. Dick hasn’t initiated, waiting on Bruce to show he still loves him, still cares enough to find Dick attractive.

He should have known, of course, that Bruce saw him as a child. Should have known without the pressure of a baby on their shoulders, Bruce wouldn’t seek Dick out, would drift away.

“Everything will be all right.” Bruce reassures. “We kept our secret from Damian for two years – keeping our secret from the handmaid will not be so difficult.”

Ah yes, their loyalties; divided. None of it will matter if Bruce is hanging from a wall and Dick is in the colonies cleaning up toxic waste. “Has there been any word?” Dick asks.

Bruce shakes his head. “I’ve sent word to Diana. Should anything go south, she’s prepared for you and Damian and the handmaid now. She’ll take the three of you to Canada. There’s been some stirrings further south. There’s talk of bringing some Marthas north. If they pass through Gotham we’ll house them overnight in the cave.”

Fear fills Dick’s chest. “When?” He asks.

“Two weeks.” Bruce replies.

“We’ll have our first ceremony around that time.” Dick points out.

“Yes. I imagine our handmaid will be so preoccupied that he won’t notice our guests. It seems safest.”

“None of this is safe.”

“I know.”

Dick frowns. Their lives have become more perilous since Dick was found to be infertile. He hates it. Why couldn’t he have just gotten pregnant like a good omega was supposed to? Why did he have to be infertile? Their lives are at risk now. They don’t know their handmaid – they can’t trust him. If he’s a spy, they’ll be doomed.

There’s a knock on the door and when Bruce calls for them to enter its thankfully only Alfred who comes into the parlor. “Dinner is ready.”

*~*~*

Dinner is a repeat of the night before. He sits at the table beside the wife, Dame Wayne, and across from Alfred who takes his seat only after dishing out heaping bowls of chili to everyone. Commander Wayne and his wife are quieter tonight, but they both focus on asking their son questions about school while he listens in.

There was a time when the only thing he wanted in life was to go to school. School represented normalcy, stability, a life off the streets. Now it’s forbidden and these little anecdotes about the son acing a math test and finishing off a book report are all he has.

Commander Wayne compliments Alfred on the meal and adds, “What was it that made you decide Chili for dinner? It’s been quite some time.”

Alfred doesn’t hesitate, “Ofbruce requested it.”

He drops his spoon in the bowl and folds his hands in his lap, head bowed and preparing to be chastised for making requests. He should accept what he’s given; he has no right to request anything and now Commander Wayne will scold him for it.

Instead, Commander Wayne turns his attention to him and asks, “Was this a favorite of yours, before?”

He shakes his head. “Chili hotdogs, actually.” He remembers scrapping enough change together to buy one from a corner stand, loaded with cheese and chili and delicious and messy. Then he thinks he spoke too casually, so he adds, “Sire.” Onto the end.

“That sounds disgusting.” The son sneers, and he looks away from them.

“I was actually quite fond of them myself.” Dame Wayne adds in, throwing a smile in his direction. “I grew up in a circus, before I came here.” Dame Wayne tells him, and he can’t help his slight curiosity as he glances over at the older omega out of the corner of his eye. “Of course when we were traveling we ate homecooked meals, but we had typical carnival food for shows. My parents only let me have chili dogs once or twice because they aren’t exactly the healthiest food in the world, but they were delicious. Especially smothered in cheese sauce.”

“Disgusting.” The young alpha reiterates.

Commander Wayne smiles at his wife and says to Alfred, and to him, “It was a good choice, to make chili for dinner. Thank you for suggesting it, Ofbruce. I hope you’ll share some of your other favorite foods with the family as well.”

He glances down at his hands, folded in his lap, and with a shuddering breath reaches up to take the spoon again. “Yes, Sire.” He manages, and from across the table Alfred smiles at him reassuringly, so he adds on, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Commander Wayne says, “You are part of our family now.”

This isn’t the family he would have chosen, but something like a butterfly twinges in his stomach at being included as a member of the Wayne family. None of his other postings have ever done that for him – he was always just the slave in their household. An outsider.

Damian and Bruce and Richard all look at him now, and maybe, just maybe, things can be better here.


	3. Of Someone Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I mentioned to my sister that I was somewhat surprised no one had guessed who Ofjack is. She pointed out that, because I didn't give a physical description of her, everyone probably assumed she was an OC. Ofjack is not an OC, although I think it's going to happen next chapter that you learn who she is.
> 
> Sorry this chapter is shorter. It was originally going to be much longer, but I liked where the breaking point was. I felt it was a good conclusion to the theme of the chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm doing prompts for Polyshipping Day on June 1st over on my tumblr, [Wanderlost](http://storytellerlockea.tumblr.com). Please pop over there and give me ideas. I have nothing so far and I don't know what I'm going to do for the day.

Ofjack beams at him when he steps outside the door, smiling brightly as she waves past the guardian stationed at Wayne manor. If the guardian cares about the young omega’s cheer, he doesn’t show it.

“Blessed day.” He greets, and today his smile is genuine as they walk together down the street to the market.

“Oh don’t say that.” Ofjack replies. “We have to go to a baby shower today. Ugh I hate them.”

“It could be worse.” He shrugs. “It could be another ceremony.” There was one last month, where the guardians who had performed exceptional services were rewarded with wives of their own. Of course, there’s also the other ceremony – the one the handmaids all dread.

Ofjack scowls. “I have mine tomorrow.” She admits. “It’s been seven months since I became a handmaid. Why am I not pregnant yet?”

He glances to the side to check to see if any guardians are stationed nearby and ducks his head down closer to Ofjack’s level. “Probably because an ovum only has twenty-four hours after leaving the ovaries before it’s absorbed by the body, and the timing of ceremonies isn’t based on ovulation or heat.” He points out. He remembers this from his first pregnancy, when he was fifteen. He remembers sitting in the free clinic while the beta doctor explained gently the science behind his pregnancy. How he’d gotten pregnant when he hadn’t been in heat to begin with. “You really think a theocracy would base any of this nonsense on science?”

Ofjack cracks a smile at his disdain. “How come they never taught us that?”

“How old were you when the Gilead rose?” He asks instead. It will tell him how old she is, but it will also explain how she missed this part of her education. As he understood it, most high schools used to teach omega fertility as part of health classes. He doesn’t really know. He went to high school for two and a half days – booking it out on day three because his foster parents were beating him and ditching school was the easiest way to get lost. The streets were better than an unsafe foster home. Oh how he’d known that intimately growing up.

“Uhmm… Maybe twelve or so?” Ofjack says. “That’s how old I was when my mom told me I wasn’t allowed to go to school anymore, because omegas weren’t allowed to read. She was an econoperson, a beta, so they let her raise me by herself.”

He doesn’t know much about the econopeople, the ones who were neither rulers nor slaves in this reality. They were faithful people, who did God’s work, according to the Commanders. They had families and worked the jobs that kept the country moving. The alphas and betas tending to the rules of society while omegas tended to their households. They worked in the grocery stores and drove delivery trucks and that was about all he knew about them.

He didn’t know how a girl raised in that class became a handmaid, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, so he didn’t press.

“You would have learned in a couple years, had things stayed the same.” He explains instead. They’re coming up on the grocery story. “I didn’t learn until my first child.”

Ofjack nods. “You know, it’s funny. One heat with my husband and I was pregnant. Seven months as a handmaid and I’m still waiting. God should get a move on it.” She ducks into the store ahead of him, not noticing when he hangs back, somewhat concerned by her words.

He recovers when one of the other handmaids taps him lightly on the shoulder. “Ofalice?” The handmaid asks, concern in his brown eyes. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” He recovers. “It’s Ofbruce now. I’ve been posted at Commander Wayne’s household.” He meets the older handmaid’s eyes. “Just lost in thought today. How are you, Oferic?” He hasn’t seen this particular handmaid since Chasity was born. They’re not close – he’s not close to anyone – but a familiar face is a familiar face.

Oferic’s shopping partner is Ofelizabeth, a woman who is five months pregnant, her stomach rounded with child as she approaches them. Oferic is carrying her basket for her. “I’m pregnant.” Oferic says. “The doctor confirmed it yesterday.” He doesn’t look happy.

He wasn’t happy when he was pregnant either, not any of the three times he was. He won’t be happy the fourth or fifth. “Blessed be.” He says, because anything else he might say – I’m sorry, it’s going to be okay, keep hanging on, you can do this – is either inappropriate, a blatant lie, or both.

Ofjack has finally noticed he’s not behind her and has returned to the front of the store. “Oferic, Ofelizabeth!” She greets, proving once again that she does know every handmaid in Gotham. “Ofbruce, I lost you.”

“Just saying hello to the other handmaids.” He lies. He doesn’t want her to know he’s worried. “Is there anything good in the produce section?” He asks to change the subject.

Ofjack doesn’t notice the tactic, or she does and lets it slide, because she reaches out and grabs his hand and drags him away from the door. “There are oranges!” She tells him. Oferic and Ofelizabeth follow behind them as they head towards the fresh fruit. “Oranges, and orange juice! I haven’t had orange juice since I was a kid.”

_You are a kid._ He doesn’t point out (she might be eighteen, but if she is she definitely wasn’t eighteen seven months ago. Gilead is not that old). “The war further south must be going well.” Ofelizabeth says. “We should all get some oranges. I’m sure our Dames would be pleased with the treat.”

Ofjack laughs. “I know just who would be happy to get an orange in my household.” She tucks a few into her basket and when he turns away to grab the onions that Alfred asked him to pick up, she slides a few into his basket too, even though he didn’t grab any.

He doesn’t take them out again. Alfred might be pleased by the surprise. He finds he likes Alfred enough to want to give the beta a gift. And if Dame Wayne – Richard – or Damian is pleased… well… it’s just to make his life a little less stressful. He’s just being obedient and thoughtful.

*~*~*

The Hart house isn’t too far from the manor, close enough that Dick informs Alfred that he intends to walk over there, if only to get some of his pent-up energy out by exercising in the only way a wife is allowed to exercise. Dana – Dame Drake – and the handmaid that walks with his handmaid every morning, Ofjack, also decide to walk to the Hart’s house. Dick likes Dana – she’s a good omega, and they’ve both bonded over raising step children, although her stepson, Timothy, is eighteen and has begun his apprenticeship under Commander Drake. He’s a beta, unfortunately, which means his chances of being assigned a wife are very low, but he can still inherit his father’s work and position.

“Good morning, Dana!” Dick greets, hurrying a little to catch up to the older omega, who turns with a smile, her handmaid pausing beside her and casting a smile in the direction of Dick’s handmaid. Dick very purposefully doesn’t look at him, not wanting to seem like he’s judging any reaction Ofbruce shows on his face (and he still hates that name; Ofbruce – of someone else – but the omega and the handmaid and him and their new family member are not names. He needs a name). “Do you mind if we walk with you?”

“Of course not, Richard.” Dana replies, smiling at them both as they approach. “Aunt Rachel told me you had a new handmaid. I’m glad they were able to find one for you so quickly.”

“As am I.” Dick lies. He and Dana take the lead, their handmaids following in their footsteps. “Truly she is an industrious beta.”

He doesn’t want to talk about Aunt Rachel. “How is your son doing?” He asks instead.

Dana sighs. “Tim’s a difficult child, willful and headstrong, brilliant but lazy. Thank God he’s not an omega – God is already testing me with Tim’s attitude right now. If I had to think of how he’d treat a husband with that kind of attitude I might truly go mad.”

“Still protesting the treatment of handmaids?” Dick asks, pretending its simple curiosity. He doesn’t glance back at the handmaids following them, but he remembers when the Drakes were issued a handmaid almost a year ago. Tim had hated it. The beta had made more than one scene in front of the wives and handmaids before the Drakes got Ofjack. Dana had to actually stop hosting gatherings at her house when her stepson was around because of his willfulness. Dick fears he might see the teenager on the wall one of these days if he doesn’t learn to play his cards more closely to his chest.

“Oh he’s read the bible front to back and twice again.” Dana says. “He’s found all these truly obscure passages about the rights of the omegas, and how Jesus treated omegas as equal to alphas and betas. ‘Mary knelt at Jesus’s feet in intention to be a rabbi and Jesus accepted her’ he told me the other day, ‘that means Jesus knew omegas were worth being treated as equal.’ Oh I am going to lose my patience.”

“I will keep you in my prayers.” Dick offers with a smile. He makes a mental note, tucked back in the corner of his mind, to ask Bruce to contact Timothy Drake. He might make an ally to Mayday if they can find a way to use him.

“But enough about my problems.” Dana says. “Tell me about your family, Richard. Your son is in middle school now, correct?”

It’s familiar territory, to ramble about Damian for a few minutes as they finish their walk to the Hart’s house. Dame Hart, a male omega in his late forties, well past the age of fertility, smiles at them as they walk up the steps, dressed in Wives’ blue. Dick smiles back and follows Dana and Dame Hart into the parlor where his handmaid, a young woman, sits in a chair at the center. Ofjack and Ofbruce move with the ease of long practice to set the gifts they’re carrying on the table near the door and move to stand with the other handmaids against the wall, hands folded in front of their red robes.

Dick makes his rounds and greets the wives as he passes. Three of the wives have children too young to be left with the Marthas so they have them wrapped in baby pink and blue and yellow as people coo over the babies already born. Two other handmaids are pregnant –  Janet Maricott’s handmaid and Michael Piper’s – and those two handmaids are also seated to reduce the stress on their bodies. He pauses in front of Maria White, wife of Commander White, one of Bruce’s business colleagues from before who now oversees urban development. Maria has her baby beta girl wrapped in a yellow blanket and she’s beaming as Dick reaches down to tickle the little girl, smiling as the baby grips his fingers in her own. “Oh she’s adorable.” He compliments, taking a seat next to Maria.

“Isn’t she?” Maria agrees. “She’s so easy too, not at all like my son. He’s in his terrible twos, you know, but I’m hoping Chasity here stays nice and easy for as long as possible.”

“May I hold her?” Dick asks, and Maria nods, handing the baby over easily. Dick is somewhat unsure of how to hold a baby, having only held a few in his life, but Maria patiently arranges her in his arms. “Aww, I hope my baby is half as cute as yours.” He says.

Maria glances over at the handmaids against the wall before turning towards Dick with a smile. In a low whisper she tells him. “Oh, your baby will be. When Aunt Rachel said you were being particular about your choice in handmaids, I had thought it would be horribly selfish to keep him. After all, he gave me my two beautiful children and it just seemed so selfish to deny another Commander and Wife the joy of a family.”

Realization dawns on Dick like a bucket of ice poured over his head. He doesn’t drop the little girl he’s holding, but he takes her in in new light. Dark curls of hair, and rich green eyes. Yes, there is a resemblance. He glances over at the wall, where Ofbruce is very deliberately not looking in his direction. In fact, the handmaid seems to be intently engaged in watching the table with the presents, even though there isn’t remotely anything of interest happening on that side of the room. “May I?” He asks Maria, nodding his head towards the handmaids.

Maria doesn’t look terribly pleased, her expression contemplative. “I suppose.” She decides after a long moment. “No harm in it now. You know, I always worried he’d get too attached to the children if I let them interact with him too much, but the other day, it was the opposite. My son cried and cried for hours. Just this once though – I don’t want Chasity getting attached.”

It takes effort on Dick’s part not to let his grip on the baby tighten in anger. Instead he nods and rises to his feet, crossing the room to where Ofbruce is watching him out of the corner of his own green-blue eyes. “Would you like to hold her?” He asks Ofbruce.

The handmaid doesn’t meet his eyes, keeping his head bowed towards the floor even as he holds out his hands. Dick passes the baby over and can’t help the smile on his face as the handmaid wraps his arms around the baby with the clear ease of plenty of experience. Dick doesn’t comment on the way the omega’s face lights up in the beginning of a smile as he regards his daughter.

Because she is his daughter. No matter what anyone says, no matter that she was taken from him unfairly by a broken system. No matter the circumstances. He carried her, he brought her into this world, and there will always, no matter what, be a part of him in her.

Dick believes it with all his heart, which makes the idea of Bruce eventually siring a child with the handmaid all the more bitter in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the fun (?) of this is getting to use a lot my obscure biblical knowledge to point stuff out. Like, I think the Mary/Martha/Jesus/Rabbi thing was on tumblr, but I know several theologists who have agreed on that point, and I'm about 90% sure the first person I learned that tidbit from was a theologist friend of mine (who is also the reason I know a SHIT TON about the book of Genesis).
> 
> I'm also weirdly versed in Jewish women's rights and how that all was affected by the Roman occupation if anyone is ever curious about how the books of laws ended up the way they did. Also, all hail the king of putting his foot in his mouth, Paul. I know a lot about that asshole too. Being a Queer Christian Feminist Scientist is fun!


	4. No Longer Listening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a bit longer to write because I realized after the first scene that I've started three chapters now with Jason and Ofjack going shopping and I got really annoyed, tried to rewrite the scene, then realized that walking to the store is about the only interaction handmaids get with each other, so it had to start that way. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is dedicated to daemoninwhite for correctly guessing who Ofjack is. Good job hun! The rest of you will find out who she is in this chapter. :D
> 
> Warnings for Intimate Partner Violence and Miscarriage in this chapter. Both events are discussed briefly and without details, but keep your own triggers in mind and remember to comment or message me if you need it.

“If you say ‘blessed day’ I’m going to smack you.” Ofjack says before he can even open his mouth that morning, the basket in his hands and coupons tucked in the pocket of his cloak.

So he doesn’t say anything. His lips quirk up a bit at the edges, an aborted smile before he sobers, seeing Ofjack’s serious expression. “I can’t do this anymore.” Ofjack complains. “What is it my mother used to say? Lie back and think of England? Did they seriously used to tell omegas that? Lie back and think of Gilead. Fuck.”

Like Oferic yesterday, he can’t think of anything to tell the girl beside him that wouldn’t be a painful lie. So he settles for wrapping his free arm around her shoulders instead, a touch of comfort in a world where nobody touches each other anymore.

Just as they leave the supermarket, Ofjack asks, “Can we take the long way around?” And he nods, knowing she’s stalling, trying to avoid having to go prep for the ceremony. He lets her.

“This is unfair.” She says when they’re alone. Her voice is a low whisper. “I did everything I was supposed to. I was good. I went to church and I married the alpha they told me to marry. I was supposed to have a household of my own one day.” She sniffles a bit, bringing her hand up to wipe away the tears beneath her wings, face hidden from him.

“What happened?” He finds himself asking, because it sounds like she wants to share, like she needs someone, just this once, to care.

“I got pregnant right away.” She continues. They’ve stopped walking and find themselves on the benches of an empty park. “I thought it would get better. It was my fault he hit me so much, because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, because I was always mouthing off and I couldn’t do chores to his satisfaction. But I was pregnant so it would be better… but it didn’t get better.”

Bile rises in his throat at the thought of her, young and scared and pregnant. Nothing she did – _nothing_ – made it remotely okay for anyone to lay a hand on an omega or a child, and especially not on one who was both.

He thinks, for just a moment, of his beta father and mother, a long time ago, and it’s a moment in time, the belt before it falls, his tiny arms raised to stop it. Knowing in one part of his brain that it was wrong doesn’t change that it happened, and it doesn’t change the part of his brain that says, over and over, (your fault).

“Did you lose the baby?” He asks.

She nods, miserable and small, her hands clenched in her dress. “But that’s not why I’m a handmaid. I couldn’t – I was so scared. I called my mom for help and she said to go to the guardians but he was a guardian and the other wives said it was my fault and if I prayed harder he’d stop. I was desperate. So at four months pregnant I found… I found someone willing to take me across the border. We never made it. I lost the baby falling down a hill in the woods when the guardians chased us down.”

Her hands clench in the fabric of her red robes, tears fall like rain on the fabric and without thinking he reaches out to her, holds her close, and lets her cry. And she does, heaving sobs of fear and pain and despair, emotions that are forbidden to them but which she entrusts to him. When she finishes, remarkably fast because there’s only so long before a guardian will pass by on patrol and see them, he lets go of her, lets her pull away and sees her puffy eyes, blue with bloodshot red, her crooked grin weak and forced.

“Ofjack…” He begins.

“No.” Her voice is harsh, short, and quick. “No, no more of that. My name is Stephanie. Please, tell me yours. Who were you before they destroyed you?”

A thief, a street rat, a whore, an orphan. Nobody important. He shakes his head but finds he can’t deny Of – Stephanie – her request. “My name was Jason.”

Her smile grows, more genuine, less forced. “C’mon, we should be heading home. I still have to prepare.” And even though she sounds sour now, she adds. “Please God, let me get pregnant this time. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

He wants to say, “You can take so much more than you think.” Because he thinks about living through his three pregnancies. Living through the red center and those horrible punishments that broke him, destroyed Jason and left someone else in his place, the scars on his wrists and feet that ache in the coming chill. Instead he says, “I was not raised faithful. Perhaps that’s why I’m a handmaid.” It’s not. He’s a handmaid because he had a child out of wedlock. “But if you’d like, I will try to pray for you?” It comes out like a question.

“Thank you, Jason.” Stephanie replies. “But I don’t think God is listening to us anymore.”

*~*~*

It’s a Friday, which is good because he doesn’t know how much more of this week he can take. He’s looking forward to the handmaid’s rest day tomorrow and going for a walk without having it be part of his daily chore schedule. He steps into the kitchen to be greeted by sweet smelling tea and Alfred’s warm smile, an apple crisp cooling on the counter.

“Welcome back, Ofbruce, you were out for some time today.” Alfred greets.

He freezes, like a child caught with his hand in dinner, and Alfred just smiles. “I do hope you enjoyed your walk this morning, please don’t hesitate to take your time one future walks. Would you like some tea?”

It’s a warming feeling in his chest, sorely needed after the somber conversations of this morning’s walk, to be granted small privileges.  A walk with a tentative friend, a cup of warm tea, fresh produce and decisions on what to have for dinner. Things he would have treasured even before Gilead but made just that much more precious by the hand life had dealt him. He nods and Alfred comes around the table with a porcelain pot and nice teacups on saucers, laying out a full setting. There’s even small tea sandwiches and when Dame Wayne enters the kitchen, freshly from his shower, and joins them, he still feels at ease.

Of course, he remembers Dame Wayne putting Chasity in his arms yesterday, the little girl was growing so fast – he’d committed the memory of her to his mind, the reminder that even though she carried his DNA, she wasn’t his, not truly. It was still a kind gesture, when his heart was breaking far more than it had with his first, unnamed child. It hurt to have another little girl – this one a beta – in his arms and know she was going to be raised to never even know his name. But even kindness was a blade of its own, and he finds himself retiring to his room, and curling up on the bed, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes, feet tucked under him, hair unbound around his shoulders, the cap and cloak and wings by the door instead.

He tries to sleep; instead he thinks about Stephanie, probably she’s taking her bath right now because the ceremony won’t happen until the clock strikes seven and her Dame enters the room, and how Dame Drake seemed like a nice person but so does Dame Wayne and none of that makes a difference when they’ve got you pinned to the bed so their husband can rape you.

He rolls over onto his other side, and burrows deeper into the covers. If Aunt Rachel saw him like this she’d scold him for laziness but what else is he supposed to do? He’s fracturing in a way he hasn’t since before Isaac was born, back when he was wilder, still free. Before they destroyed him. Stephanie is right. That’s the right word.

_“My name was Jason.”_ That is also true. He’s Ofbruce now, because they took Jason from the streets and remade him in the image that best suited them.

A knock on the door has him rushing to rise. It’s dark outside now, which means Commander Wayne is home now and he’s probably moped his way through any chance to help Alfred with dinner. Which is a shame. It’s meditative to be cooking with the old beta, to focus on learning the recipes he’s not allowed to read. Maybe when he’s no longer fertile the aunts will take pity on him and allow him to become a Martha. Maybe that’s why its important he learns the recipes now and commits them to memory while he’s at this post.

Feeling shamed for having loitered in bed so long, he rises and tucks the white cap back over his hair, neatens his robes and opens the door. Dame Wayne – Richard – is standing there, hand raised to knock again even as he smiles at the handmaid, raised hand sliding back to brush his bangs out of his eyes. He flinches back, an instinctive reaction to someone raising their hand near him, and instantly feels shamed when Richard’s smile falls off his face.

“Hey.” Richard says, too casual and instantly he’s on edge, tensing up as Richard steps into his room. “Ofbruce, I know yesterday wasn’t exactly the best day but I wanted to ask – was it okay?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Dame Wayne.” He replies, confused. There was nothing that happened yesterday that he’d need to asked if he was okay. It was just a baby shower – a little annoying because that stupid fucking ceremony was so long and had a lot of repeated prayers in it – but nothing stands out to him.

Richard says, “You wanted to hold her, right? Chasity? That’s her name?”

Oh. “Thank you for letting me hold the baby.” He repeats back dully, feeling numb iciness spread through his veins, down his fingers and to his toes. Dame Wayne thought he’d done Ofbruce a favor, letting the omega hold a baby he carried for another family and now he’ll want something from him, some repayment. Maybe he’ll ask Ofbruce to try for a child outside the ceremony. His first heat since having Chasity should be coming up, now that he’s no longer breastfeeding, and if they want a baby badly enough, that will be the best time to try.

The thought horrifies him and it’s everything he can do to keep it from showing on his face. If Dame Wayne demands he spend his heat in the Commander’s bed he’ll have no choice but to comply or risk being seen as disobedient and sent back in shame to the aunts and the red center. But the idea of being forced to have sex over and over again while out of his mind on an overloaded hormone system strikes a little too close to home. He can’t. All he wants for this next heat is to curl up in the closet in the dark and not move for two days.

But Richard only nods and says, “I hope it was okay. I didn’t want to hurt you. Kindness is its own sharp blade.” He smiles again and says, “It’s time for dinner, by the way.” And then he walks away, leaving Ofbruce standing, disjointed and out of balance, in his wake.

*~*~*

The next morning things return to normal. It’s Saturday, the handmaids' day off. Ceremonies are intentionally moved to Fridays so that Saturdays are never affected by them. Stephanie greets him as he steps out of the house, sans his basket, and it’s like yesterday never happened. They walk to the park where several of the handmaids in the neighborhood are gathered in loose circles. Some are gently tossing a beach ball back and forth between them, careful not to run too enthusiastically after it. He takes a seat on a bench with Ofelizabeth, Oferic, and another handmaid he recognizes but doesn’t know which posting he is at. Stephanie runs off to play with the handmaids who have the ball, and though it’s tempting to join in, he’s not so sure of his own self-control.

In the world before Gilead, it’d be just after Halloween, somewhere nearer to Thanksgiving now. Neither of those holidays exist anymore, but in the dead of winter there will still be a Christmas with gifts for the children, and that’s the only thought that makes the cold bearable.

There are several aunts in the park, scolding handmaids for talking too loudly or just walking by checking in. It’s easier, most of the time, to imagine aunts like Head Aunt Rachel, like they really do care about the handmaids under their charge. That’s what he likes to imagine anyway and greets Aunt Rachel when she walks up to the four handmaids seated on the bench. He listens and responds respectfully as she asks how he likes being with the Waynes, careful not to let too much affection into his voice, and then she turns to Oferic.

“I’m told we’ll be ringing a bell in your honor soon.” Aunt Rachel says, with a wide smile on her face.

Oferic’s expression is so carefully neutral its hard to tell he feels anything at all. “Yes Aunt Rachel.”

“Blessed be!” She cheers and claps her hands. “Oh how wonderful, now we must pray for Ofbruce and Ofsarah to be so blessed.”

He very carefully does not wince at that. Last night’s strange conversation with Dame Wayne aside he’s still worried about his own upcoming ceremony with the Commander. Instead he bows his head and pretends to care about what Aunt Rachel says in her prayer. She ends, of course, on the phrase, “Blessed be the fruit, Amen.”

“May the Lord open.” The four of them intone, obedient.

He wonders if Stephanie is right. If God has stopped listening to them. If there even is a God. After all, Jason’s prayed so many times not to get pregnant in the same way Stephanie has prayed to get pregnant, if only to put a stop to the ceremonies, and two children later here he is, wondering why God is doing this to him. Maybe it’s because he’s a whore, dirty and sullied and made unclean by his childhood. Still, he bows his head and he prays his own prayer.

_Please don’t let me get pregnant. If you’re listening, make me infertile. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t give up another child._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's also very important that I point out that Jason is an unreliable narrator. In this chapter, we get some hint but depending on what direction you go with the hint you will be VERY far off from the truth. A friendly reminder for people who've seen the show -- Jason shares his backstory with Janine in this fic (hence the "your fault" that Jason has stuck on repeat in his head). So if you know Janine's backstory, you'll be WAY closer to figuring out what happened to Jason. 
> 
> I'm working on the next chapter and I'm about 90% sure that's when Jason's ceremony will be and oh boy is that gonna be fun.


	5. Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Thank you all for being so very lovely and leaving me such nice comments. I immediately sat down and wrote both this chapter and the next chapter, which will be up tomorrow, so now I'm ahead! I know I said the ceremony was likely to be in this chapter, but then Dick and Bruce had to have _feelings_ and it was gross and I decided to move the actual ceremony to the next chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to everyone who wanted more Dick and were sad he wasn't in the last chapter. Here, have a chapter entirely from Dick's point of view.

Bruce gets word two days before the ceremony that the Marthas are coming, along with the alphas from Mayday who will escort them to the estate and leave them. Dick is beside himself with worry the rest of the day, which is unfortunate because Bruce receives the word on Sunday and they all must walk to church together, all five of them in a cluster, to make a public show of faith. Dick’s acting skills keep him from falling apart until they’re alone in their room that night.

“I can’t do this anymore.” He says, voice breaking as he regards his husband. Bruce is sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully unbuttoning his shirt, facing away from Dick who is already in his night robes and pressed up against the headboard. He feels fragile, in a way he usually doesn’t. The ceremony is on Tuesday and he’ll have to sit there, with the handmaid’s hands in his, while his husband fucks the omega in hopes of creating a baby. And Bruce still hasn’t touched him. Hasn’t done more than kiss him before he says good night, as if Dick doesn’t know what Bruce is doing in the shower every morning, hiding away his arousal from Dick as if Dick isn’t pleasing anymore.

Maybe not, he thinks bitterly, since he can’t even get pregnant.

Bruce sighs, his hands still. “Dick.” He says the name softly, with gentle affection mixed with annoyance, and Dick winces away from that tone. “They need our help.”

“No.” Dick whispers back. “That’s not the problem.”

The problem is the silence in between.

“Then what?” Bruce asks. He strips off his shirt, down to his boxers and climbs under the covers, patting the space beside him for Dick to come and cuddle up to him. Dick does so, letting the warmth of Bruce’s arms wrap around him, the only touch he gets anymore. “Talk to me, little robin.”

It’s his mother’s nickname for him, the one she used to whisper in his ear when he was cuddled up between her and papa in their trailer. Bruce uses it sometimes, affectionately, and usually it makes Dick glow warm and pleased.

Now it makes him cold. Bruce doesn’t love him, not the way Dick wants to be loved, and it hurts. These words hurt.

“It’s nothing. I’m being stupid.”

Bruce holds him in his arms, wrapped up there gently with Dick’s hands covering Bruce’s over his chest, chin tucked under his, Dick’s long hair braided out of his face. “Talk to me.” He whispers into Dick’s ear. “I can’t read your mind.”

A million thoughts run through his head, quick as lightning and sharp as a knife. Instead of voicing one of the more coherent and poised thoughts, what comes out of his mouth is an apology. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a child.”

Bruce sighs but pulls him closer. “I don’t care about that.” He says. “I know we were supposed to try but I never wanted to push anything on you that you weren’t ready for. I never wanted this.”

Dick’s heart sinks, his breath halts for a moment in his chest. Despair is not a feeling he’s used to and he wants to cry but he’s determined not to. It still hurts. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes again.

“It’s not your fault.” Bruce’s voice is gruff but warm. “I love you.”

“But not like this?” Dick asks, because he’s a masochist who has to know how much Bruce is going to hurt him in the end. “You haven’t touched me in a month.”

Bruce stills and the silence is damning. He releases Dick and rolls away, his back to the omega. Dick shivers in the space between them, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, knees curled up to his chest. Bruce sits up and leaves the bed, and Dick watches him go, wordlessly accepting the rejection.

This pain will pass. It has to.

In the silence the first couple of tears fall, and then no more, as he waits for Bruce to return. Bruce never does.

*~*~*

He’s snappish the next day, stressed and angry and he accidentally raises his voice when Ofbruce drops a glass. Alfred’s not even mad, the glass isn’t even broken, but the snappish “Watch what you’re doing!” terrorizes the handmaid into silence for the rest of the day and Dick feels awful. Damian looks at him like he’s lost his mind over breakfast and opens his mouth to protest. Damian is a child prodigy and hates the “menial, banal existence of his fellow alphas and betas” and Dick really wishes, just this goddamn once, that Damian would be like other children.

“Don’t start, Little D.” Dick warns, and Damian’s mouth snaps shut even as he glares at Dick. “Just go to school.”

“I can see you’re in a foul mood.” The young alpha comments. “But perhaps don’t take it out on the servants.”

That’s rich, coming from a middle eastern prince. Dick knows it was a torrid love affair between Bruce and Talia that resulted in Damian, but the middle eastern heiress had raised her child like a legitimate heir, until she was pressured into a proper marriage and her husband had her send Damian away. Damian is spoiled as an alpha, and most days Dick is the one doing the spoiling, but today he just stands up and stalks out of the room.

He hasn’t seen Bruce at all. When he’d stepped into the kitchen early that morning, Alfred had said Bruce slept in his office, hadn’t even come out for breakfast, and gently asked Dick if they were having a fight. No, no they weren’t. They were just going through a rocky patch. All marriages had rocky patches in them… right?

He moves the furniture around in the bedroom and stretches as far as he can, which is still not enough, until he’s a pretzel on the floor, sweat dripping down his face, his hair plastered to the back of his neck and it’s still not enough to glue down the raw edges of himself. He goes into the bathroom and showers off the sweat and goes for a walk instead, intentionally going by himself as he ducks past the guardian stationed outside the manor and heads towards the nearest park, the one that he saw Ofbruce and Ofjack head towards on their rest days. He greets several wives in the park, some out walking with their pregnant handmaids, and makes polite talk about nothing until he can duck past, wandering down what was once a jogging trail. He wants to run, but there are guardians nearby and the other wives don’t know him as anything but Commander Wayne’s very obedient, very genial wife.

It’s well past lunch by the time he returns home and finds Ofbruce and Alfred in the kitchen, working on dinner preparations. Dick pauses in the doorway, watching them as they go about chopping vegetables and setting meat to marinate, Ofbruce working under Alfred’s careful directions. He’s so very perfect, Ofbruce, it makes Dick a little sick to his stomach. The omega doesn’t even glance in the direction of the cookbook, making a show of not reading the recipes. In the two weeks Ofbruce has been with them, Dick has learned nothing about the omega, except that he likes unhealthy food and seems to really enjoy helping in the kitchen. Dick’s pretty sure handmaids aren’t normally cooks as part of their chore rotation, but he hasn’t dissuaded Alfred or the omega.

He shouldn’t say anything and regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. “Don’t let him sneak a knife out of the kitchen.”

Alfred’s flat stare is enough of a shaming gesture for Dick to find somewhere else to wait for dinner to finish.

He goes to Bruce’s study and almost enters the room, but it’s forbidden now. It wasn’t forbidden when he was growing up, before being an omega mattered so much. He raises his hand to knock on the door, to speak to Bruce because this wound feels raw, but he lowers it instead. Bruce might be on the phone or buried in paperwork and he shouldn’t bother the man, knowing he’s working and it might have something to do with the Marthas that are arriving tonight to spend the night in the cavern beneath the Wayne manor.

It’s only when he realizes he’s stood there a solid minute that he lowers his hand and turns away, heading for the parlor to fight with crochet stitches. Damian joins him and works on his homework, Titus sleeping on the alpha’s lap and for once it feels like something approaching normal.

Dinner is strained and silent. Alfred tries to keep appearances up by asking about Damian and Ofbruce’s days, and Ofbruce can clearly see the tension between Commander, who has finally left his office, and Wife as his eyes dart back and forth between the two of them even as he speaks, in simple short sentences, about running an errand to the butcher’s shop with Ofjack. Dick should reassure Ofbruce, make up for his earlier snapping at the handmaid whom he knows has done nothing wrong, but the thought of him, of the ceremony tomorrow, makes Dick so angry he wants to shake the handmaid. _Who are you? Why were you sent to us?_

Instead he keeps his mouth shut, nods politely when he’s expected to, and focuses on not making things worse. After dinner, he and Damian retreat to the parlor again and the alpha says nothing to Dick. Bruce returns to the study and finally, finally, once Dick has sent Damian off to bed and Ofbruce has retreated to his room, Dick walks down the long hall to the study, raises his hand, and knocks on the door.

Bruce’s voice is gruff, tired and weary as he calls, “Enter.”

Dick does so, stepping inside to see that Bruce is alone in his study. Bruce instantly says, “You shouldn’t be here.”

It’s not a space for omegas, he means. “Come back to our bed.” Dick says.

“I can’t.” Bruce’s answer is strained, frayed at the ends like a threadbare tapestry. “I’m sorry Dick. I never meant to hurt you.”

“When?” Dick asks. “When did you mean not to hurt me? When I was eighteen? On our wedding night? Or last night when you left me when I needed you?” This anger feels right even though it’s not appropriate. This isn’t how a wife should act, but Dick needs this air between them, he needs to cauterize this wound before it bleeds out. “I love you Bruce.”

“You’re a child.” Bruce replies, and it’s not derisive, just soft and factual and Dick feels the anger swell within him, his jaw clenched, chin raised.

“I am twenty-three, Bruce Wayne.” Dick’s voice is a low growl, a pale imitation of an alpha. “Don’t you dare call me a child. Not when you’ll be fucking that – that teenager in the room next to ours tomorrow.”

“Dick, please.” Bruce is trying to placate him, but Dick won’t be placated. “Calm down.”

“No. No.” He withdraws backwards, to the door that’s closed behind him, “Don’t start Bruce. Don’t talk to me like a child. You lost that right five years ago.”

Bruce winces, and Dick feels satisfaction in his chest, bitter on his tongue. “No, you’re not a child, but you’re still young Dick. I took your choices from you and I’m sorry. I should have protected you and I failed and so I closed my eyes and did what I had to because I –” He breaks off, and Dick waits. Bruce rises to his feet. His tie is loosened, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looks like he didn’t sleep last night either. He crosses the space of the room and his hands, heavy and warm, fall on Dick’s shoulders, head bent down as Dick tilts his back and Bruce kisses him, presses his lips to Dick’s and for a moment that’s all there is.

Two lost stars in orbits around one another. Bruce pulls away after a moment. Dick says. “Please stop pushing me away. Accept that we’ve both been handed bad choices and made the best of it, but no matter what I still love you.”

“I know.” Bruce says. “That’s what scares me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha *runs screaming from the room.* I know Bruce is canonically emotionally constipated, but I can't write those kinds of characters very well, so have a Bruce who is well meaning but bad at expressing it. All the angst!
> 
> Next chapter is done, as I said earlier, so here's a special sneak peek:
> 
> _For a long moment, Dick stares at the mattress where Ofbruce has placed his wrists on either side of Dick, before remembering._
> 
> _He’s supposed to hold the omega’s wrists during the ceremony._
> 
> _Dick reaches out and pushes down the sleeves so his bare hand is against the omega’s pale skin, and that’s when he sees the scars for the first time. They’re… horrid. Ugly, rippling things, puckered and scarred over in messy rings just above the pulse point. Horror rises in Dick, and he feels like he’s going to throw up. Staring as he is at the healed wounds he misses the way Ofbruce shifts, his legs parting as Bruce steps between them._


	6. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone! You're all so lovely to talk to and I love your comments and kudos. 
> 
> Depending on how sensitive your triggers are, you may be able to read further into this chapter. If you are especially sensitive, stop when the POV switches to Dick. If you think you can handle a little more but not the actual scene itself, stop when Dick and Bruce leave the bathroom. You'll miss the ending scene, either way, which I'm particularly proud of, but there's a full summary of what happens beginning with Dick's POV in the ending notes.

There’s a certain comfort in the ceremony, having performed it on a monthly basis when he wasn’t pregnant or nursing for the last few years. Alfred greets him by the kitchen door, like he does every morning, and hands him coupons for what they need, as well as two coupons for chocolate saying they’re for him specifically, and it’s nice, when the old beta tells him to share the other chocolate bar with Ofjack before coming home. It’s a brisk November day, and there’s frost on the ground as they walk, wrapped up in gloves and scarves to keep warm, scarlet like their robes. Stephanie is a tight-lipped waif beside him, something clearly on her mind, even though she keeps up a steady stream of meaningless chatter.

The econoperson at the checkout eyes him strangely when he drops two chocolate bars on the checkout but takes the coupons without complaint. “Let’s take the long way around.” He whispers to Stephanie as they leave the grocery store. They do, moving quickly past the wall near the park and into the park itself, where they find a bench. Numb not just from the cold, he passes Stephanie her chocolate bar and says, “Alfred, the Wayne’s Martha, said I should share this with you.”

Stephanie brightens. “That’s awesome. Our Martha sucks. She’s so dour all the time and is always yelling at me.” She takes a bite from the chocolate and moans dramatically. “Oh my god I haven’t had chocolate since I was a kid.”

He smiles in response and takes a bite of his own, surprised at how bitter it is. There’s a richness to it that’s delicious, but it’s not the sugary sweet chocolate his mom used to buy for him when he was really little. For the next couple of minutes, neither one speaks, enjoying the air and the chocolate and the overcast sky that’s threatening snow in the next few hours. It reminds him of years ago, and he shudders. It was cold the night he gave birth that first time too, the snow freshly fallen. They said low pressure could induce labor, and so plenty of people gave birth after storms. Fitting he should attempt to conceive with a storm on the horizon too.

“We should go.” He says when they’ve both finished savoring the treat, fingers frozen even in their gloves. “I need to prepare.”

Stephanie nods, still contemplative and they walk back to the manor where she drops him off. Then, boldly, she hugs him around the shoulders in full view of the guardian, who moves to shout out them, but Stephanie is already pulling away. “It’s going to be okay.” She says, tilting her head towards the manor.

He huffs out a breath in disbelief. “Okay.” He moves away from her. None of this is okay.

Inside the manor, Alfred greets him and asks if he’d like some tea before he begins preparing for the ceremony. He shakes his head; his hands are shaking. It’s the cold he tells himself. A hot bath will help.

There’s comfort in the routine. Undressing, letting his hair fall over his shoulders as he strips out of plain white undergarments and climbs into the claw foot tub filled with steaming water. The bath is to last at least thirty minutes but no more than an hour, and he lies there and watches the sun move across the mid-morning sky until the water begins to feel cool against his skin. His hands shake as he moves. He washes with unscented soap, all the more to let the omega scent of him, fresh and clean, soak through his skin. There’s a rumor it will make him more fertile, but like most things in Gilead, it’s based on an interpretation of the bible that Jason doesn’t know enough about to understand. It sounds made up though.

His hair is washed and as he ducks back under the water to rinse the shampoo from his hair, he imagines briefly just staying under, but this isn’t how he wants to leave this world. He’s not ready to give up just yet, and he’s terrified. He’s seen what the aunts do to handmaids who attempt suicide. The ones unlucky enough not to succeed. He doesn’t want that life, chained to bed with nothing to do but lie there under the watchful gaze of the aunts, raped once a month without even the pretty dressings of the ceremony to hide the rotting truth.

He gasps for air when he rises, having stayed under until he thought better of it, water dripping over his shoulders, as he rises to his feet and drains the tub, moving to dry off. The robes he wears for the ceremony are the cotton ones, no undergarments, no brown boots, just the robe and the white cap. He doesn’t don the cap right away, letting his hair drip dry over his shoulders as he returns to the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s supposed to pray now. Pray and fast until it’s time for the ceremony. He’ll eat after the ceremony, but for now it’s to make him as clean and godly as possible.

He's not clean. He’ll never be clean. Not after what he’s done.

_The last snows of winter, dirty and gray on the side of the road. The gloomy freezing rain, the shelter that was supposed to be safe. A knife, glinting off the streetlights._

He opens his eyes, caught in the memory, and for a moment forgets to breath. There’s nothing wrong. There’s nothing wrong. His hand is clutched in the red of his robes and it looks like another red dripping down his legs.

_I’m not there._ The words come over and over in his head, repeated until he believes them. His hair is dry now so when his hands stop shaking he twists it up and tucks the cap around it. The sky is dark now. The rest of the family will be finishing dinner. Alfred will have probably set a plate aside for him, for after the ceremony is complete. He kneels on the floor, wishing there was a clock so he could tell the time. Alfred is supposed to come fetch him in time for the ceremony.

He waits. He tries to be so very perfect again, hands folded in his lap as he kneels. He’s done this before. The red center had trained them all in the ceremonies, in kneeling for hours to pray, in lying still. He knows how to do this. Time passes. It’s taking longer. Did he misjudge the time? Outside, there’s snow falling already, a winter storm come blown in.

He waits.

Finally, finally there’s a knock on the door and it opens. Alfred is frowning thoughtfully. “I apologize, Ofbruce, there was a problem with Damian during dinner. He has been sent to his room and will not be attending the ceremony.”

He nods and rises to his feet, following Alfred down the hall to the parlor. Once inside, he kneels again, this time in front of one of the fireplace where a bible has been placed. Other than the ceremonial bibles, he has seen no other signs of faith in this household – not unusual, faith was once a private part of life and even the blessed and holy still hold some of that private belief.

Alfred takes a step back, standing behind the couch, and the rest of the waiting begins. The ceremony says the whole household must be present but he imagines that if the Wayne’s son is causing a problem, then he may be excused. Still, there is no delaying the ceremony. Finally, the door opens and out of the corner of his eye he sees Dame Wayne enter. The omega frowns and crosses the space to the chair by the fire, taking a seat and waiting. There’s so much waiting in this ceremony that it’s awkward.

“I’ve already forgotten what I’m supposed to do.” Richard admits, speaking to Alfred. “Come in, sit down, wait for Bruce.” He sounds cheery as he speaks, which is good because yesterday he’d been in a foul mood. Whatever argument he and the Commander were having must have resolved. Thank heavens. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“I believe it is up to Master Bruce to finish the ceremony. He was reading through what Aunt Rachel sent him this morning.” Alfred says, and once again he’s reminded that this isn’t just a first ceremony in a new household, but a completely first ceremony for the Wayne family.

“Ah.” Richard replies. “That’s good. At least one of us knows how this goes.” He glances down at the floor. “Make that two. Bruce will be here shortly. He’s finishing with our… problem… now.”

Damian Wayne’s temper tantrum.  Of course, it would delay the ceremony. He tries to wait patiently, but his knees hurt from kneeling for what feels like hours, his feet asleep, the scars aching. Finally, there’s a knock on the door and Richard glances down one last time.

“Come in!”

*~*~*

The blizzard coming in has stranded the Marthas in the cave until it passes. All traffic but emergency vehicles are shut down and getting in and out of Gotham in the storm is impossible. Alfred and Damian had worked to set the Marthas in the cave up with warm food and blankets and Dick is glad that Ofbruce has not made an appearance all day. They’re settling in for a long haul – it’ll be another day or two before the next branch of Mayday comes for the Marthas. The longer they’re in the cave, the more dangerous it is for everyone. If they’re found –

It used to not matter, helping Bruce with Mayday, putting on the front and distracting people with his smile and personality so that nobody looked too closely at the Wayne family. Thomas Wayne had been devout, so even though Bruce had a torrid past, he too was seen as devout when the pressure came down – submit to Gilead or die. Of course, Bruce had outwardly put on his dutiful commander persona, even as he reached out to friends made while traveling. Diana and Clark, for example, handled the Mayday branch just north of Gotham, in Metropolis. Clark might even be one of the truck drivers who came to get the Marthas. They’re so close to the border – Dick knows the fugitives can taste freedom in their grasp – and it can’t be undone because a devout handmaid got too curious.

Still, Dick feels nausea roll in his stomach as he enters the parlor where Alfred and Ofbruce are waiting. It doesn’t fade even though he wills cheerfulness into his expression, false and halting. In fact, it gets worse until his head hurts and the room spins when he rises to his feet. Bruce reads the passage about Rachel and Bilah from the bible and gestures for Dick to join him. Dick does and both hold out their hands for Ofbruce to take, pulling the omega to his feet. Then, with a prayer that’s all for show and not out of faith, Bruce closes the first part of the ceremony.

In their bedroom, only knowledge that they have people to protect keeps Dick from running out of the room as he slips off his shoes and climbs on the bed, kneeling there. Ofbruce moves with ease of practice into his position, lying on his back towards the end of the bed, his bare feet hanging off the edge, the red of his robes hiked up around his thighs, waiting to be pushed back. For a long moment, Dick stares at the mattress where Ofbruce has placed his wrists on either side of Dick, before remembering.

He’s supposed to hold the omega’s wrists during the ceremony.

Dick reaches out and pushes down the sleeves so his bare hand is against the omega’s pale skin, and that’s when he sees the scars for the first time. They’re… horrid. Ugly, rippling things, puckered and scarred over in messy rings just above the pulse point. Horror rises in Dick, and he feels like he’s going to throw up. Staring as he is at the healed wounds he misses the way Ofbruce shifts, his legs parting as Bruce steps between them.

The sound of Bruce unzipping the fly of his pants brings him back to reality. “No.” He whispers, the word falling from his lips automatically. He lets go of Ofbruce as if those scars have burned him and is off the bed in a matter of moments, Ofbruce lying there in confusion. Dick doesn’t care as he makes his way around the bed to the bathroom so he can throw up in peace, but Bruce catches him by the shoulders.

“Dick, stop.” Bruce’s voice is deep, commanding, the alpha tone he only uses rarely around his family.

Dick shrugs him off. “I can’t do this.” He pushes past Bruce towards the bathroom and hears Bruce say something to Ofbruce before he follows him into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him.

“Dick.” Bruce says, and Dick is leaning over the sink, dry heaving even as nothing actually comes up. God he wants to throw up, he’s so sick. This is wrong. “You have to do this. _We_ have to do this.”

“No we don’t.” Dick replies between coughs. “We take him downstairs, he goes North. I’m not doing this.”

“And then what? Our handmaid goes missing just after the first ceremony? They’ll investigate and they won’t stop until they know what we did with him.” Bruce points out simply. Dick has stopped coughing so Bruce reaches over and turns the sink on, the sound of running water drowning out the low, fierce whispers of their conversation.

“I don’t know Bruce.” Dick snaps, keeping his voice low. “But I can’t sit there while you rape someone in our bed. God, do you know how fucked up that is?”

“Believe me, I am aware.” There’s a hint of black humor in Bruce’s tone. Somberly he says, “But what other choice do we have? We have to make a show of following Gilead’s laws or we risk everything, or did you forget who we have downstairs tonight?”

And there it is, the snare that entangles them. “Whatever happens next,” Dick swears, “He goes to Canada with or without us. If things go south, you get him out first. Damian and I will make do, but we owe him everything after this. We’ll never make up for what we’re about to do.”

Bruce crosses the space between them. “I know.” He says. He turns off the sink and more loudly adds, “Have your nerves settled?”

“Yes.” Dick replies just as loud, realizing they’re putting on a show for Ofbruce, so the omega thinks it’s nerves over a first time and not disgust that had sent Dick running for the bathroom. “I’m ready.” He steals himself and follows Bruce out of the bathroom.

The handmaid is still lying on the bed, robes hiked up, hands still raised above his head. Dick crosses the room and climbs back up on the bed, takes hold of the omega’s arms like he’s supposed to, and tries to focus on anything else as Bruce returns to his previous position between the handmaid’s legs.

Nausea churns in his stomach again when Bruce pushes the scarlet cotton up higher, revealing the omega’s sex as he slips in. Their handmaid whines and Dick looks automatically to his face. Ofbruce is wincing in discomfort and it occurs to Dick that Ofbruce isn’t aroused and hasn’t been lubed up. He’s dry and it probably chafes. Dick glances at Bruce, who is also looking at the handmaid, and the handmaid’s eyes are closed, even as the corners of his mouth twist downward. Bruce frowns and shakes his head, silently warning Dick not to say anything.

Dick isn’t one for strong language, but a string of fucks run through his mind. It’s not bad enough watching his husband whom he loves deeply have sex with someone else, but they have to hurt the handmaid as well. The litany doesn’t let up when he notices Ofbruce staring up at the ceiling, blue-green eyes wide and hazy, unfocused. He’s disassociating, but not panicking. That’s okay; if Dick could he’d dissociate too.

Bruce doesn’t drag it out, moving quickly despite the pain it causes the handmaid to get it over with as soon as possible. When he finally withdraws after his knot fades fifteen minutes later, he retreats straight for the bathroom and Dick wants to run after his husband and smack him. Or punch him in his now flaccid dick. But then Ofbruce moves and Dick’s attention is back on him.

Ofbruce says, “I need to elevate my hips and lie on my back for a few minutes.” He sounds so calm, but with a sort of dreaminess to his tone that says he’s still disassociating. “It’s more likely to take that way.”

At that point, Dick would do anything in his power to make sure Ofbruce got pregnant, just so they never have to repeat this episode ever again. So he nods and grabs a pillow, shifting backwards so that Ofbruce can shift up until he’s fully on the bed, the robes falling back to at least his knees now. Ofbruce takes the offered pillow and lifts himself up, sliding the pillow under his hips so he’s tilted slightly backwards.

Bruce still hasn’t returned. Dick says, “Will you be all right here for a few minutes?”

Ofbruce nods. Dick heads back to the bathroom. The shower is running and Bruce is naked underneath the spray, his head bowed against the tile, clenched fist raised as if he’d hit the wall.

He’s been so wrapped up in himself he didn’t think about how this would affect Bruce. Dick’s been horribly selfish.

“Bruce.” He calls gently.

Bruce looks at him and his face is pinched, eyes darkened by pain. Dick steps forward but this time it’s Bruce who withdraws. “Don’t.” Bruce says.

“I’m sorry.” Dick replies. “I’m sorry this happened. I wish I could have –”

“Don’t.” Bruce cuts him off. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should have taken you and run when you were sixteen.”

Maybe he should have. “It’s not your fault either.” Dick admits. Blame won’t get them anywhere, and there’s no taking back tonight. Dick steps under the spray and wraps his arms around Bruce, pressed up against his back even as the spray soaks through his blue robes. Dick doesn’t care. He holds Bruce, cheek against the alpha’s shoulders.

At least the water mixes with the tears, and it’s impossible to know who cries first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary for those who need it:
> 
> Dick enters the parlor, followed shortly after by Bruce who performs the first part of the ceremony -- praying and reading from the bible. When he's finished, they retreat to the bedroom. Dick climbs up on the bed and Jason lays on the edge. Dick sees the scars on Jason's wrists when he goes to hold him down but is startled by what they're about to do when Bruce steps between Jason's legs. Panicking, Dick flees to the bathroom and attempts to throw up. Bruce follows and Dick tells Bruce to send Jason downstairs, send him North with the Marthas. Bruce can't do that, knowing that letting Jason go would mean extra attention on their family and the investigation might reveal their connection to Mayday. Dick tells Bruce that they will owe Jason everything after this, that they will need to do whatever they can to protect Jason because there is no forgiving what they're about to do. Bruce agrees and the two leave the bathroom.
> 
> During the rest of the ceremony, Dick focuses on Jason's face, realizing that while the handmaid is initially in pain, he also dissociates. Bruce notices as well and the moment they finish Bruce heads for the bathroom. Dick makes to follow him but stays long enough to help a still dissociative Jason before he heads for the bathroom. He finds Bruce already in the shower, clearly upset about what just happened, and Dick realizes he's been so focused on himself that he never thought about how being turned into a rapist might affect Bruce. Dick climbs into the shower with Bruce, still clothed, and hugs him.


	7. Blessed Be the Fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, I got some wonderful comments on the last chapter! You guys are truly awesome.
> 
> The next chapter is only half done, but my goal is to finish it off today. Chances are there won't be an update tomorrow because I start my new job on the 11th, and so I need to get some things done for it. I'm relocating for my new job in July so I'm going apartment hunting in another state on Wednesday, which will REALLY put a damper in my updating. I'll have my laptop with me so I'll be writing at least, but I won't be able to dedicate literal hours everyday to writing. 
> 
> You guys have been wonderful, and I'm sorry updates will be slowing down, but making money again is important.

“Normal is just what you’re used to.” Aunt Rachel says. The handmaids are lined up two neat rows outside the red center. The rain that’s come is washing away the snow from this week’s earlier blizzard, the unexpected warm spell washing away the last of November. He shivers beneath his soaked cloak and robes. Aunt Rachel is under an umbrella and the omegas who aren’t pregnant have been summoned for a disciplinary session.

Ofelizabeth has gone missing.

“Children,” Aunt Rachel declares as they shiver in the rain approaching hypothermia. He intentionally doesn’t think about what this might do to him in the long run, intentionally doesn’t think about the way the scars on his feet ache from where snow and water have sunk into his boots. He’s trying to stay upright, so the aunt carrying the cattle prod doesn’t have any reason to shock him. “You have been granted a great gift. There are two types of freedom in this world – freedom to, and freedom from and we of Gilead have blessed you with freedom from sin and temptation yet this is how you repay us?”

Ofsarah, a male omega that he knows used to talk to Oferic and Ofelizabeth during their rest days, is dragged forward from the line. “Where is Ofelizabeth?” Aunt Rachel demands.

“I don’t know.” Ofsarah cries. “Oferic is her walking partner, not me.” Aunt Rachel shocks him and lets him fall then shocks him again when he doesn’t immediately rise.

Bile rises in his gut and he glances surreptitiously over at Stephanie, shivering in her own cloak, eyes bright with unshed tears. She’s biting her lip, a gesture he’s noticed her do quite frequently all this week.

She hadn’t said anything on Wednesday, the morning after his ceremony with Commander and Dame Wayne, still looking drawn and contemplative, and now she looks just as concerned. He can’t help but think she knows something, something she’s not going to share.

He wishes he knew something, if only to take Ofsarah’s place. He can’t stand it when they torture the other omegas.

Ofsarah is dragged up by his cloak and shoved back in line, the process repeated on the next omega and it becomes clear Aunt Rachel is going to torture them all until they confess, or until she can’t keep them out without them getting sick.

The third omega is pulled forward when suddenly one of the aunts runs forward, grabbing Aunt Rachel by the arm and whispering furiously in the older woman’s ears. Aunt Rachel flips off the cattle prod and smiles at them. “It seems we’ve been blessed.” She tells the omegas in the line. “Ofjack, step forward.”

Stephanie’s eyes go wide, and for a moment his gut clenches as he watches the youngest of the handmaids step forward, shaking even as she attempts to keep her poise together. “Come now, girl.” Aunt Rachel gestures impatiently, and Stephanie moves more quickly.

Aunt Rachel pulls her up next to her and says to the gathered omegas. “Ofjack is pregnant.”

The relief on Stephanie’s face is clear, but he can’t help but wonder what she’s hiding, if she’s grateful that her pregnancy has been revealed.

“Blessed be the fruit!” Aunt Rachel cheers. The handmaids repeat back the required response dully, voices shaking from the cold and the wet. To the other aunts, she says, “Take Ofjack inside and get her warmed up. We can’t have a pregnant handmaid shivering out here in the cold.”

One of the aunts takes Stephanie’s arms and in desperation she glances behind herself at the others, clearly not wanting to leave them to suffer. He mouths the word “go” to her and she nods slightly, letting herself be pulled away.

When it’s his turn to be dragged forward he doesn’t know anything about what happened to Ofelizabeth. The feel of the cattle prod biting into his neck burns and he cries out, managing just barely to stay on his feet. It feels like his whole body is on fire, the burn left behind when she releases him back into the line like a single bright point of flame still against his skin. He remembers being burned like this before, when they chained him down and burned his wrists for disobedience.

He shivers beneath the scarlet cloak, praying for this to end.

*~*~*

Saturday comes before Dick realizes it. It starts more hectically than usual, with a guardian knocking on their door. Dick’s heart had stopped – the Marthas had left the cave on Thursday and he fears they’ve been traced back to the manor – but it wasn’t Bruce or Dick they had come for, but Ofbruce instead.

Dick’s nursing a cup of tea, staring out the kitchen window at the rain washing away the snow, thoughts concerned. Bruce had told him last night that he’d reached out to Timothy Drake, encouraged him to join them and that Timothy, after thinking about it for a few days had finally agreed. Something had changed in the Drake household, it seemed. Dick hasn’t spoken to Dana since last Sunday, when he was too tense to say more than a few words to the other wife on their walk to church. Bruce said Tim hadn’t shared. Still, it’s good to know they have another ally.

The kitchen door opens suddenly and Ofbruce steps in, soaked from the rain and shaking beneath his cap. His wings are missing – the white hood clutched in his hands instead, the white cotton of his cap soaked through so that Dick can see Ofbruce’s black hair showing underneath. His face is flushed red with the cold and Dick rushes to his side.

“What happened?” He asks. Ofbruce stares at him, as if seeing him through a haze. “Ofbruce?” Dick asks.

“A handmaid is missing.” Ofbruce says, his eyes are glassy, unfocused, and before he thinks better of it Dick gently places his wrist against the wet, chilled skin of the handmaid’s forehead.

“You’re freezing!” Dick exclaims. “Go upstairs and get out of those clothes. Alfred!” He calls.

Ofbruce nods and turns his head, and that’s when Dick sees the burn on his neck. It’s blistered and red and looks miserably painful. Before thinking better of it, Dick reaches out to touch, unsurprised when Ofbruce flinches away, his hand covering the burn.

“Sorry.” Dick apologizes quickly. “What did they do to you?”

“It’s fine, Dame Wayne.” He doesn’t sound fine.

Alfred appears in the kitchen door and takes one look at Ofbruce before going into full mother hen mode. “Good heavens young man, get out of those wet things before you catch a cold!” He sweeps past Dick and wraps his arms around Ofbruce, herding the omega out of the kitchen.

Dick doesn’t bother finishing his tea. He heads straight for the study where Bruce is working and knocks on the door. Without waiting for a response, he opens the door and steps in.

“Dick.” Bruce greets tiredly, glancing up from his paperwork. “What are you doing?”

“Ofbruce just came home.” Dick says. “He said that a handmaid in the neighborhood has gone missing.”

Bruce doesn’t react. “Shut the door.” He orders, and Dick does, before crossing the space to stand in front of the desk. “An omega in Canada paid a large sum of money to fund Mayday, funds we need badly. She’s the daughter of a high-ranking politician in Canada, promised more support if we did one thing for her.”

“What?” Dick asks, wondering what this has to do with anything.

“Bring her wife home.”

Dick goes cold. “So the handmaid?”

“Megan Alterella.” Bruce says. “Elizabeth Piper’s handmaid.”

“So what?” Dick asks coolly, “Mayday takes a handmaid North and now they’ve tortured our handmaid for information.”

“Which he doesn’t have.” Bruce points out.

None of that matters with the thought of those blisters on Ofbruce’s neck. “They tortured him anyway.” He replies.

“They tortured all the handmaids, not just him.” Bruce points out, as if that somehow makes this better. “I’m sorry Dick, it was safer this way.”

“Safer.” Dick replies flatly. “Tell that to Ofbruce.”

*~*~*

 He catches a cold, not that he’s surprised. Alfred brings him soup in bed and encourages him to stay there until he feels better. He’s not the only handmaid who got sick after the disciplinary session on Saturday, so there’s a small comfort. Stephanie apparently comes by, according to Alfred, and brings him an orange from her shopping trip. The small gesture is appreciated.

A week passes and by his calculation he should be coming up on his heat, or already in it. It doesn’t come. He waits another week. Nothing.

Two and a half weeks after the ceremony, when he’s recovered enough and the blisters have faded to light scars, he wakes up, rolls out of bed, and makes a mad dash for the toilet. All that comes up is water and bile in his stomach, but the nausea keeps him bent over the toilet until Alfred comes to fetch him for breakfast. Alfred finds him there, kneeling on the floor in his white night robes, his long hair unbound, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back in the doctor’s office, a curtain pulled up between him and the doctor as Dame Wayne hovers, worried, on the sidelines.

Richard had been extra kind to him ever since the ceremony. He guesses it’s because Dame Wayne is hoping that his wishes for a child will be fulfilled soon, but the consideration and kindness is nice. Being invited to sit with the family in the parlor, being taught by a truly inept Richard how to crochet in the evenings while Damian sketches and Commander Wayne reads by the fire. All of it is nice, and he’s willing to let it pass unquestioned because some part of him needs this. Needs to feel like he belongs somewhere.

“Just some morning sickness.” The doctor informs Dame Wayne. Not him, because he isn’t in charge here. “Congratulations Dame Wayne. I’ll give you some medication for the nausea and prenatal vitamins, but otherwise there’s no cause for concern. Should I inform the aunts?”

“Please.” Richard sounds distracted. He comes around the other side of the screen and he can see that Richard’s expression is contemplative. “Your pregnant.” He says, as if he hadn’t already figured that out.

His chest hurts. His stomach rolls. “Blessed be.” He says.

“Yes.” Richard still sounds distracted. “Blessed be.”

*~*~*

Because he’s not yet showing, he’s still allowed to go for the morning walks with Stephanie. It’s the next morning, as they walk to the market, that he tells the younger omega about his own pregnancy. She nods, “I’m sorry.” She says.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells her gruffly.

She shakes her head but doesn’t answer. December is here and the few festivities allowed in Gilead brighten the homes on their way to the supermarket. Christmas trees are paganism, but people light their creche displays in multi-colored strands, and wreaths still hang on doors.  Richard and Damian spent one Sunday afternoon just recently making a wreath for the door. He’d sat in the parlor while they worked – or argued – the whole time. Damian was dissatisfied with his step-mother’s taste for garish, clashing colors. He was amused by the display and allowed himself to wonder what kind of clothes Richard would favor, were they not a society that had outlawed fashion.

They both fall silent. There’s nothing to be said that isn’t rude or intrusive. It’s a quiet walk home, Stephanie lost in thought, him wrapped in his own mind. He’s startled from his thoughts when he steps into the kitchen and finds Commander Wayne leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to Alfred. He hardly ever sees the alpha lord of the household, who is usually either holed up in his office or out attending to business matters that he’s not privy to the details of.

Commander Wayne glances up when he steps through the door, and he gives a small bow before placing his basket on the counter and making to leave. He doesn’t want to interrupt the commander.

“Ofbruce.” Commander Wayne calls before he can leave. He freezes in his footsteps, forces a smile to his face – be genial, be open, be perfect – and turns around.

“Yes, Sire?”

Commander Wayne is frowning, but it’s a thoughtful expression, gaze distant, looking at him but not quite seeing him. There’s a long pause, during which he glances up under his bowed head at Alfred, who is watching the two of them contemplatively. Finally, Commander Wayne says, “I hope you are feeling better.”

“I am. Thank you.” He manages a soft pleasantness in his voice, trying so hard to fake an emotion he doesn’t feel. “The doctor said the baby is fine too.” Even though there was never any doubt after a little bought of morning sickness it never hurts to reassure the Commander that he and the baby are both tougher than they give them credit for.

For some reason, his words don’t seem to reassure Commander Wayne. The Commander simply brushes past him, leaving the kitchen. He glances over at Alfred who is frowning thoughtfully before he notices him looking.

“What he means to say,” Alfred says, “Is that he is glad you are feeling well. You gave us all quite the scare yesterday.”

 _Yes_ , he thinks as he moves to help Alfred with the groceries. _Can’t have the handmaid dying after all, especially now that I’m pregnant._

That thought is followed by another one.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got around to watching episode 2:7 of Handmaid's Tale this week. The grocery store scene was cheesy as fuck but I nearly cried during it anyway. I'm gonna figure out how to work in a similar scene in this fic; watch me. :D


	8. Merry and Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are truly amazing! This is the chapter just before the one I call the "Bombshell Chapter" although I don't know how much of a bombshell it is. This chapter I called "Obligatory Christmas Episode" when I was referencing it to Kattitina and Io, who are basically my IRL cheering squad. I'm almost done with the next chapter but since I'm driving out of state for my house hunting trip tomorrow (ugh. I'd rather fly) I will likely not update tomorrow, so it may be Saturday or later before you get the next chapter since house hunting is likely to take up a lot of my time. I'm trying really hard to keep a flow going but today trying to write was like pulling teeth. Hopefully once I get past this next chapter things will flow a bit better. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my sister, Tainted_Kattitina, for no other reason than enduring the amount of teasing she got for hitting the kudos button on this fic. There's a long running joke between Kattitina and I about her leaving kudos anonymously on my stories instead of using her account.

It snows the last week of Advent and the walk to church is blisteringly freezing to the point where Dick almost decides he doesn’t want to make the walk, but Aunt Rachel had come by yesterday to check on Ofbruce, now six weeks pregnant, and make sure the omega was in good health. The doctors have been doing most of the checking up and Dick knows Alfred is religious about making sure the handmaid eats, but the aunts serve as doulas during the pregnancy, handling home care and intermediating problems between Wife and Handmaid. The beta had taken Dick aside when she finished with Ofbruce and said simply, “You’re the least jealous wife I’ve seen, Dame Wayne. You are doing wonderfully.”

Dick had cocked his head to the side and with a bright smile asked, “Am I? Why should I be jealous – he’s doing all the hard work.”

Aunt Rachel had smiled back and clapped Dick on the shoulder. “You truly are a Godly omega, Dame Wayne, and so very blessed. Why, despite the Commander’s wilder youth, your whole family is a model of what a blessed Gilead family should be. Truly, you are an inspiration.”

Dick had smiled, the light not reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Aunt Rachel.” Was all he’d managed to say and with a cheerful farewell she reminded him that the blessings were tomorrow for all the children born in the past year.

One of those children would be Chasity White – Ofbruce’s daughter – and it was the reminder that Ofbruce had already had one child this year that sobered Dick’s mood. So despite the chill, he bundled Damian in a jacket and fussed with the alpha’s hat before marching the family to the church.

Bruce catches his arm before they go into the sanctuary, Ofbruce, Alfred, and Damian going ahead of them. “What’s the rush?” He asks Dick. “You normally aren’t so eager for church.”

It occurs to Dick that he’s never mentioned Chasity or Isaac or the Whites to Bruce. Now he says, “Alice White, do you remember her?”

Bruce nods. “She’s an old colleague of mine.”

Dick says, “Well her daughter is being blessed today – Chasity, she was born in April.”

“I didn’t know that. Are you close to Alice’s wife? Maria, isn’t it?” Bruce is still clearly confused, so Dick leans closer.

“I’m surprised it didn’t say in that dossier that aunts gave you on Ofbruce. He used to be the White’s handmaid.” Dick whispers.

Now realization dawns on Bruce’s face and he glances away. “Oh.”

Dick turns away and enters the sanctuary, finding a seat beside Damian. Behind them, with the rest of the handmaids, Ofbruce’s expression is one of bland interest, perfectly faked to hide his boredom. There were seven children born in the last year to the Commanders, and another twenty-two to the econopeople. Dick glances over his shoulder when Alice and Maria White step forward with Chasity but Ofbruce is staring down at his hands and now Dick wonders if this is a mistake. Bringing Ofbruce here to see children he’ll always be watching from a distance.

Bruce squeezes Dicks’ arm and Dick sighs, turning to face the front again. At least by the end of the three-hour long service the snow has let up and there are no longer freezing gusts of wind to make things miserable in Gotham. With some luck the snow will stick around for a few days and they’ll have a white Christmas once more. He catches Ofbruce by the arm as they’re leaving the church and gestures for him to fall behind the rest of the family. Ofbruce does, but there’s a straight set to his shoulders that says he’s unsure what Dick wants.

Which is a shame, of course. Dick has been trying so hard for the last few weeks to help Ofbruce feel more welcome. When Ofbruce was sick, he helped Alfred make food for the handmaid, and made sure Alfred tended to the wound on Ofbruce’s neck. And when Ofbruce got better, Dick had taken to trying to invite the other omega into tasks. Teaching someone else how to crochet was an exercise in patience and futility, but at least he’d gotten Ofbruce comfortable enough that when he and Damian had made their wreath, as they did every year, Dick had thought Ofbruce was privately, quietly laughing at them.

“How are you holding up?” Dick asks as they fall in line far enough behind the rest of the family to be granted some privacy.

“I’m well.” Ofbruce answers. “Tired, but I was tired last time too.”

“With Chasity?” Dick asks.

There’s a moment of hesitation before Ofbruce nods. “Yeah.”

“This one’s your third pregnancy, right?”

“Fourth.” The answer comes quicker, but Ofbruce glances away. “Sorry, I know most wives don’t like being reminded how fertile we are.”

“I don’t mind.” Dick reassures him. “I mean, I do a little. I wanted to have my own baby, you know. But that’s hardly your fault.” Ofbruce just stares at him, face half hidden by his wings before Dick flushes and glances away. “What?”

“This is your baby.” Ofbruce says. “According to the aunts, you’re pregnant too.”

Dick knows that, of course. He’s seen the other wives with their handmaids. Births are a ceremony all their own in Gilead. Handmaids and wives both attend, but unless he can’t, Dick tries to get out of as many births as possible. He didn’t even go to Dame White’s – Ofbruce’s – birth. Too busy trying to conceive during his heat, if he remembers correctly. It always felt weird and wrong, being with the wives while one pretended to be in labor when upstairs a handmaid was screaming their way through a real labor. Now he’ll be the one pretending to give birth while Ofbruce does the real work.

“It’s a little silly.” Dick admits with a wry grin. “It just doesn’t seem real yet to me.”

Ofbruce nods. “Me neither.” He agrees. “Though the heartburn would have me believe otherwise.”

It’s a rare quip from Ofbruce, who is usually so static and perfect that he seems personality-less, and Dick cracks a genuine smile, not one of his camera-ready ones. “You can keep the heartburn.”

He almost doesn’t catch what Ofbruce says next, “Of course. You’ll keep the baby.”

Dick’s getting tired of all this acting, but he plays pretend like he didn’t hear what Ofbruce said.

*~*~*

Christmas morning dawns pretty and white, the sky overcast in the morning light, gray. Damian is the first one awake, Dick knows, but he intentionally doesn’t point that out when he comes down to the kitchen to find Alfred pulling cinnamon rolls out of the oven, Damian at the table while Ofbruce makes frosting. Truthfully, Dick’s been awake for hours at the point, lying next to a snoring Bruce and rippling with excitement until he heard Alfred get up and wake Ofbruce. Christmas is his favorite holiday and as one of the only holidays left in Gilead, it’s become especially important to him.

Damian never celebrated Christmas before he came to live with them, but even though he considers himself too dignified to act like the child he still is, he’s still giddy with the thought of gifts. Of course, the more private gifts were exchanged last night – the ones from Talia, Damian’s mother, and the religious gifts that were inappropriate for a good Christian boy to have. A new prayer mat, a copy of the Quran with the cover replaced to look like the bible, written in Arabic, and of course Talia’s gift had been a ceremonial sword. Bruce had shaken his head at that, even as Damian’s eyes lit up with glee. It was Dick who’d stepped in and told Damian the gift would go, untouched, up on the wall for decoration only.

“Good morning.” Dick greets, ruffling Damian’s hair.

“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘Merry Christmas’ step-mother.” Damian replies, hissing like a cat dropped in a bath as he ducks away from Dick.

“Oh is it? I thought that ceremony we went to last night was just a church service run especially late.” Dick teases back.

Damian scowls. Alfred says, “Don’t let Master Dick’s attitude fool you. He used to run up and down the stairs at four in the morning to wake us up, and once I caught him trying to catch Santa Claus well past his bedtime.”

Damian scowls. “Alfred is Santa Claus.” He says.

“Yes, well,” Dick defends himself. “I didn’t know that when I was ten.” He glances over at Ofbruce, who is lazily swirling the wooden spoon through the frosting bowl. His eyes are bright with humor and he’s smiling genuinely – almost a smirk, actually – until he catches Dick watching him and ducks his head away.

“The handwriting didn’t give it away?” Bruce asks, appearing in the kitchen door. While Damian is still in his night clothes, the adults are all dressed in their respective uniforms. Black for Bruce and Alfred, red for Ofbruce, and blue for Dick. There’s a certain amount of impropriety allowed for children on Christmas morning, but the adults should look respectable.

Dick rolls his eyes and steals a peck from Bruce before his husband heads for the coffee pot, taking the long way to avoid passing Ofbruce, who is suddenly very intent in making sure the frosting is well mixed.

“Ah yes.” Bruce says, “I remember that incident. Was that the same year you tried to climb the Christmas tree?”

There’s a snort of laughter from Ofbruce and only Dick catching Bruce’s eye with a shake of his head keeps Bruce from commenting on Ofbruce’s lapse. Dick smiles brightly and says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” To Alfred he asks, “Are the cinnamon rolls cool enough to frost yet? I want one like I want a highly caffeinated beverage.”

“Same difference.” Damian mutters. Dick pokes him in the shoulder, enjoying the teen’s indignant squawk as he ducks away.

Alfred dishes out cinnamon rolls for everyone, along with candied walnuts for topping, and Ofbruce brings the bowl of frosting over with enough spoons for everyone. The handmaid watches them all as they dig into the frosting, patiently waiting to be the last one to dish out his own serving, so Dick snatches the candied walnuts, covers his in them and passes the bowl straight to Ofbruce despite Damian’s protests.

“Thank you.” Ofbruce says, before dishing his own and with a mischievous smile passes it behind Damian’s back to Alfred, who returns Ofbruce’s grin. Dick beams at him even as Damian tries to snatch the bowl from Alfred, who just glares the teen into submission. The teasing doesn’t last long and soon all five of them traipse into the parlor where gifts have been set beside the fireplace. Titus, having spent the last month banished from the room because he chews on the presents, bounds in on Damian’s heels.

Dick and Bruce curl up together on the couch while Alfred takes Bruce’s usual oversized chair and Damian plops down on the floor, leaving the other chair open for Ofbruce to sink into. Titus sits on Damian’s command, wagging his tail, tongue lolling in excitement as he skootches towards the presents, only for Damian to call him back.

Finally, Bruce takes pity on Damian and the dog and disentangles himself from Dick to pick up the first present, which he hands to Ofbruce.

Ofbruce takes it hesitantly, surprise clear on his face. “What’s this?” He asks.

“One of your presents.” Bruce says, as if that should be obvious. The package is small, unobtrusive, and if Dick remembers right it’s just orthopedic inserts for his boots, to make standing easier while his body undergoes the changes of pregnancy. Most of Ofbruce’s gifts by the fireplace are pregnancy related. Unfortunately, they’d all had no idea what to get their quiet handmaid that wasn’t either contraband or suspicious or both.

Ofbruce’s soft exhaled “Oh,” is nearly inaudible as he carefully unwraps the present. “Thank you.” He says and it sounds genuine. “I’ve never actually gotten a Christmas present before.”

“Never?” Dick asks, surprised.

Ofbruce shakes his head. “Well, once, actually. My mom went to one of those charity toy drives and got a picture book.” He smiles faintly at the memory. “Come to think of it, I think I remember it being hosted by the Wayne Foundation, but I was only six.”

It’s the most they’ve ever gotten out of Ofbruce about his past, and that smile is gone quickly. “I’m sorry. I know we’re not supposed to talk about before.”

“It’s all right.” Bruce reassures. “Why don’t you pick out the next gift?”

Ofbruce nods and rises to select the next gift, passing it to Damian, who is thrilled with the oil pastel set that Dick had searched all over the city to find for him. A lot of luxury goods are hard to find in Gotham these days.

One by one they exchange gifts and every time someone passes something to Ofbruce there’s a moment of shock on his face, which is eventually replaced with incredulity at how much stuff is accumulating by his feet. There’s a few personal touches in there – one of Dick’s terrible scarves crocheted in scarlet, a bunch of homemade candies from Alfred, a study of a poinsettia by Damian – mixed between the more practical gifts.

At the end, when the coffee has all been consumed and their cinnamon rolls are long gone with the icing licked off of fingers and the trappings of paper are surrounding them, Ofbruce says, “I’m sorry I didn’t get anything for anyone.”

Dick glances over at Bruce, who is frowning thoughtfully, and smiles at Ofbruce. “Please don’t worry about it.”

Bruce nods. “Just having you with us is a blessing enough.”

Ofbruce smiles, but it looks sad, and Dick wishes, not for the first time, that he knew why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna get better Jason, I promise!
> 
> By the way, I'm on Discord! I'm looking for friendly, fairly small DCU/Batfam servers if anyone knows any. Preferably fannish oriented ones. If you'd like to add me as a friend or send me a server invite, my username is Lockea#2638. Thanks all! I'll see you next chapter!


	9. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who left Kudos and Comments last chapter -- thank you. To those I haven't answered, my apologies. I never meant to leave you hanging, but real life and depression brain got the best of me again. Still, know that your kind words and thoughtful comments are the reason this chapter exists.
> 
> I started my new job last month and it's been... hit the ground running and don't stop to breathe. I'd complain, but I love it so much. I'm having so much fun even if I find it hard to juggle my medical condition and full time employment. Unfortunately it's affected my writing so I do very much appreciate everyone's patience as these chapters slow down. I'm sorry guys, but my job pays to keep me alive, and sadly no one has really figured out how to write from beyond the grave. Haha, until then, you're stuck with a flake like me for an author.

When he steps into the Maricott’s household following after Richard, he’s surprised at the atmosphere within. There isn’t enough room in the Maricott’s sitting room for both the wives and the handmaids attending the baby shower, so the handmaids are sent to wait in the back room while Oferic – the pregnant handmaid – sits quietly among the wives. The wives are sober, the “kidnapping” of Ofelizabeth weighing heavily on them.

Terrorists, they’re blaming it on. In the backroom, away from the watchful gaze of both the aunts and the Marthas, the handmaids are whispering to each other. He steps into their midst, listening. “Heard she ran away with the driver.” One handmaid whispers. “Bet it really was terrorists.” Another, “Bet it wasn’t.” A third.

Stephanie is seated in a corner, with a chair beside her for him to sit on. She’s quiet still. He’s decided that it’s because she’s not coping well with her pregnancy, not that he’s surprised. In his pregnancies, there’d been a certain numbness during his first and second. Thinking back on it, he’d barely said a word to anyone during his first pregnancy and with Isaac he’d been so terrified of every little thing he’d barely been able to stammer out a “Yes, Dame” anytime Dame White had asked him a question. That was before he’d realized being pregnant gave him a certain amount of power in the household.

Stephanie offers him a vague smile and says, “It’s been two months – when are they going to think of something new to gossip about?”

He cracks a grin at her. “Probably the next time one of us goes missing.”

Stephanie doesn’t reply, frowning thoughtfully. He adds, “You holding up okay?”

“Yeah.” She answers automatically. Her hand is resting on her still flat abdomen, rubbing idle circles over the red of her robe. “I was thinking about baby number one. Dame Drake is already brainstorming baby names. I can’t help but wonder if it’s too soon. Like something bad is going to happen.”

“You’re not planning on trying to run away during this pregnancy, are you?” He asks, mostly as a joke. Where would she go that Gilead wouldn’t follow? Personally, he’s positive that Ofelizabeth has already been recaptured and is in detention at the red center. She’s probably chained to a bed even now, stuck waiting to give birth before they send her to the colonies or execute her.

Stephanie shakes her head. He says, “Then there’s nothing to worry about. There’s no greater crime in Gilead than harming a pregnant handmaid. Abuse that power.”

She cracks a grin at him. “Speaking from experience?”

“Yup.” He tells her cheerfully.

He intentionally doesn’t think about Christmas just a few weeks ago, where he’d been invited to be part of the family. He’d intended to sleep in that day, wake up after the presents were opened, but Alfred had been insistent that he come to breakfast and the opening of gifts. It was only when he’d been given the first gift – the one that usually went to the youngest member of the family – that he’d realized he was being included as part of the family.

Hell, he was wearing Richard’s scarf instead of his standard issue one, after all, even though Stephanie had teased him about it when she saw it for the first time.

They lapse into companionable silence after that, and any conversation following is simply gossip.

On the walk back home, he and Stephanie trail behind the wives. Dame Drake is in a good mood, smiling frequently and matching pace with Richard. Still, it makes him uneasy. Stephanie hasn’t been the same since she found out she was pregnant, and he worries what this pregnancy is doing to her mentally. His is… he’s… okay. Mostly okay. This isn’t the first time. It probably won’t be the last. He’ll bear a few children for the Wayne’s and then he’ll go to a new post, bear a few more children, and hopefully giving birth so many times will mean he’s allowed to find some peace in retirement of sorts. Maybe they won’t execute him when he’s past childbearing age. That’s the best he can hope for, these days.

“We should have a joint baby shower.” He overhears Dame Drake say to Richard.

Richard’s smile is evident in his voice as he replies, “Absolutely.”

Stephanie glances at him and rolls her eyes and he cracks a grin at her, leaning closer. “At least we don’t have to suffer alone if there’s a joint baby shower.”

Stephanie snorts. “Fuck you.” She whispers. “I’m so sick of baby showers.”

“All the more reason to share one.” He replies, grinning at her. Richard glances behind at the two of them, but he’s already straightened up and Stephanie has coughed to cover her laugh, so nothing but two handmaids in polite conversation greets him.

They’re going to the Drake’s house to visit. He can’t say he’s thrilled, but it’s either go sit with Richard and Dame Drake and Stephanie while Dame Drake and Richard gossip for the next two hours or go back home and sit in his room alone. At least here there’s food.

The Drakes have a bay window in their sitting room, and he finds himself a seat in it, staring out at the snow that’s turned dirty and gray after a few days, only half listening as Dame Drake and Richard take seats by the fire and chat. Stephanie disappears to get drinks and snacks from the Martha but doesn’t immediately reappear.

Fifteen minutes later and Dame Drake is fussing with the edge of her robes. “Ofbruce.” She says finally. “Can you go see what’s holding up Ofjack please?” And then she turns back to her conversation with Richard, not even waiting for acknowledgment. With a roll of his eyes, he rises to his feet and steps into the hall outside the parlor. This is only the second time he’s been in the Drake’s house, since Dame Drake rarely hosts anyone, but he recalls that the kitchen is near the back of the house. The layout is not the same but similar to the Wayne house.

There’s voices coming from the kitchen, one low and male, the other Stephanie’s voice. He can’t hear what they’re saying just yet but Stephanie’s voice is a low hiss of anger and he speeds up his pace.

He turns the corner into the kitchen where Dame Drake’s stepson has Stephanie pressed up against the wall, arms trapping her and his vision goes red. Stephanie is a pregnant handmaid, an omega, and this beta has no right to lay hands on her! Before he realizes it, he’s grabbed the collar of Timothy Drake’s jacket and hauls the teenager backwards, shoving the beta to the ground and away from Stephanie.

Stephanie’s gasp is followed by a frantic shout, “Jason! No!” She grabs his arm and pulls him back just as what he’s done begins to dawn on him.

He pushed a Commanders son.

The color drains from his face when there’s a slam on the wall next to the kitchen and he glances over to see Dame Wayne and Dame Drake standing in the door staring at the scene. “What happened?” Dame Drake demands, glaring at the three of them. Dame Wayne’s expression is completely closed. Oh he is so screwed now.

This is it. He’s had a spotless record for five years now and then he’s ruined it in five seconds. Fuck.

Timothy Drake speaks first. “I tripped.” He says. “My fault, really. I didn’t realize how close to Ofjack I was and tripped over her feet.”

“Uh-huh.” Dame Drake says flatly. She doesn’t believe them. “You’re too old to be this clumsy.” But then she just turns and stalks back to the parlor.

Dame Wayne glances after Dame Drake before entering the kitchen completely, the door swinging shut behind him. “Perhaps it’s best you wait outside, Ofbruce.” Dame Wayne says and he nods, numbly aware that whatever happens next, he will have deserved it, and that it can’t be too horrible – can it? He’s pregnant after all. That will protect him – won’t it?

He moves to pass Dame Wayne, who stands aside, before Stephanie calls, “Wait. Let him stay. You can trust him.”

He pauses, more out of confusion than anything else, Timothy Drake and Dame Wayne glance over at Stephanie. She doesn’t look cowed by her outburst, he realizes, watching her. She looks confident. “He deserves to know the truth.” She adds. “After all, you’re not going to punish him.”

Clearly Stephanie has lost her mind, but then he glances over at Dame Wayne to see that the omega is contemplative, not angry. After a moment, Dame Wayne sighs and runs his hands over his bound back hair, smoothing away non-existent frizz. “Bruce is not going to like this.” But he glances over at him and says. “All right Stephanie. What really happened?”

Before he can register that Dame Wayne knows Stephanie’s real name and just used it in conversation, Timothy Drake says, “Steph won’t go to Canada.”

Stephanie says, “I’m not leaving you.” At the same time Dame Wayne says, “That’s too much of a risk.”

Now he’s really confused. Dame Wayne smooths his hair back a second time, leaning against the counter. “Tim, surely Bruce explained –”

“I would go with her!” Tim interrupts. “I’d keep her safe.”

“No, you’d get yourself killed. Think, Tim. We didn’t bring you into this just to see you on the wall.” Then Dick sighs and glances back over at him, standing there in confusion trying to follow a conversation he half understands. “Let’s go Ofbruce. We should get home soon.”

“Jason.” Stephanie says, and he glances at her sharply. She shrugs. “His name’s Jason.”

“Stephanie.” He hisses at her. She meets his eyes, expression flat.

But Richard just smiles and says, “Jason. We need to discuss a few things. Let’s say our goodbyes to Dame Drake and head home.”

Richard turns and walks away, not waiting to see if he’s being followed. Standing baffled in the kitchen, he doesn’t move to follow after his Dame, even though he should. Instead he glances between the two teenagers.

Stephanie smiles warmly at him. “Go. It’s all right.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “You deserve to know the truth.”

_What truth?_ He wants to ask. The whole conversation has left him reeling, lost in the waves of emotion. There’s so much he doesn’t understand that he can’t even begin to make sense of it all.

He’s left his wings in the parlor, so he heads back there just as Richard is leaving with Dame Drake. “Don’t dally, Ofbruce.” Richard says.

The use of his handmaid’s name is oddly comforting after the use of his real name in the kitchen. He’s not Jason, not anymore, and though he told Stephanie that name and thinks of her using her real name, he knows it’s not the same. She probably doesn’t really think in her real name anymore either.

The walk next door is made in tense silence. He’s hunched in on himself, thinking. Richard is also in thought by the down set turn of his mouth. He replays the scene in the kitchen in his head. _We didn’t bring you into this just to see you on the wall._ Just what is Richard Wayne doing that involved Timothy Drake and somehow Stephanie is in on it?

Alfred greets them at the door and takes their cloaks and his wings, but Richard spares him only cursory thanks before he heads off in the direction of Commander Wayne’s study. When he isn’t immediately followed, Richard pauses on the stairs and glances back at him lingering in the entry hall. “Jason.” The use of his real name startles him from his thoughts and he glances up to meet Richard’s eyes. “Come on. We need to talk to Bruce.”

_This is it._ He thinks slightly hysterical. This is the end for him. Still, paralyzed, he manages a small nod and follows, head bowed, fingers clenched in the red of his robes. Outside the door to Commander Wayne’s study he pauses and turns, catching the handmaid off guard. He falls back a few steps, unconsciously moving out of Richard’s reach before the other omega can touch him.

“I’m sorry it happened this way.” Richard says. “I’m sorry this happened at all – no, that’s a lie. I’m sorry we didn’t ask Stephanie before about you but she and Tim only came into this recently and they’re young; idealistic. In love.” The last two words are spoken wryly.

Pieces click into place in his head and he glances up from beneath his eyelashes. “You’re the underground.”

Richard nods and smiles, gentle and kind and warm. The way he’s been ever since Ofbruce – ever since Jason – came into this house. Richard has never been anything but kind, even during the Ceremony –

His breathe catches. “You – “

He can’t speak; he can’t breathe, and between one second and the next he’s on the floor and Commander Wayne is there and Dame Wayne is looking at him in abject concern. This hasn’t happened in a long time, this attack. Not since right after he found out he was pregnant with his first child. That first, horrible moment when the test came back with a little plus sign and everything seemed too real. He woke up, and it wasn’t a nightmare.

There’s an echoing roar in his ears, a ring so powerful it’s like the aftermath of an explosion and his eardrums have popped. Commander Wayne’s voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away, from underwater. “-son. Jason.”

He glances up so fast his head knocks hard into the wall behind him. He’s in the hallway outside Commander Wayne’s office and the alpha is kneeling in front of him as he sits pressed against the wall. All his carefully broken edges, held in check by the twine threads of his sanity, snap in that moment. “Get away from me.” He orders, and to his surprise Commander Wayne moves away from him, gives him space. “You – “

The words, the accusation won’t come and he sags against the wall, his hand over his abdomen that hasn’t quite recovered from his last pregnancy before this one began.

“ _How could you?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this fic! If you could please hit the Kudos button before you leave or leave a review, I'd appreciate it. Reviews and Kudos tell me that people liked my story and would like to see more.


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